


Hangover Cure

by ladyinprocessing



Series: hangover cure [1]
Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exes, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I love them but they need to suffer, Non-graphic character deaths, a more accurate title would be terrible communication skills, bonding over mommy issues, fallon makes terrible decisions, general idiotic behaviour, kirby is allergic to reason, mentions of illness, overdramatic inner turmoil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-01-06 08:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyinprocessing/pseuds/ladyinprocessing
Summary: Kirby knew this would be a terrible idea with catastrophic consequences, but Fallon had more of a pull on her than gravity.in which Fallon and Kirby are exes.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Yes, I am rewriting this because I got stuck on the last version and hated it so much I deleted it. Oops. This version is rather different from the last one so hopefully, it isn't too repetitive.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank Sarah (@peachgillies), Amanda (@eastsidewidow) and @gilliesempire for beta reading for me (sorry Amanda for unamericanising everything).
> 
> As always, happy reading!

Fallon Carrington leaned back against _The Brownstone's_ cold brick wall, trying and failing miserably to sober herself up in the frozen air. She could not for the life of her remember how exactly her friends had roped her into going there with them. She’d profusely turned down every invitation to Martha’s twenty-fifth birthday party, but had somehow still been talked into it. Fallon didn’t even like Martha - she was Monica’s friend, whom she was forced to spend time with if she wanted any sort of social life. But, she had always had an inability to refuse Monica Colby anything - it had been that way since middle school, and perhaps before. Her best friend could talk her into anything. She had at least ten new investors she could be speaking to and she was at a cheap bar in downtown Atlanta because it was an acquaintance’s birthday.

She let out a low, frustrated groan as she thought of all the next day’s meetings she’d have to attend hungover. Her father would have her head. This was why she’d been waiting over an hour for a brief escape. Her friends would most likely have started shots by now and the very idea made her feel nauseated. She needed to get out of there before she was talked into taking one (read: seven) and end up too hungover to lift her head the next morning.

Goose pimples prickled up her bare legs, freezing December air biting at her skin. A shudder travelled up her spine as she rubbed her shivering hands over her arms in an attempt to bring some warmth through the friction. A blanket of alcohol-induced heat hadn’t settled over her yet - she wasn’t nearly as drunk as she had thought. _Great_. It was almost one and her sobriety was still hanging over her head in a taunting manner.

She exhaled a swirl of visible breath as another person settled themselves on the wall a few metres away from her. Fallon eyed them suspiciously before standing up straight and checking her too-tiny-to-function handbag for her lipstick and phone.

“Hey, do you have a lighter?” the stranger asked, their tone rather polite, with a cigarette between their lips. She acknowledged the Australian accent. It sounded vaguely familiar.

She shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She dusted off her dress and walked back into the bar again, wracking her brain for any plausible explanation for her to have left for so long. She didn’t think of one. No one asked her for one. No one ever did.

She sipped her mystery cocktail in disgust. Cheap bars never had good cocktails, not even when you were paying eight dollars for them. She laughed mechanically at Martha and Genevieve’s unfunny (and usually racist) jokes and cracked an unenthusiastic smile at the man who bought her yet another terrible drink. Fallon was having anything but fun. The bar was too loud, and she’d much rather have been at home watching _Sunset Boulevard_ with Bo. But Monica refused to let her go home. She called her a buzzkill and practically screeched when Fallon accepted the title. She was her best friend, but Fallon hated her sometimes.

She spent the next hour on her phone. It was reaching three and she still wasn’t in her bed. She waited for a valid reason to go home, but (for once) no long-lost relatives appeared from thin air in distraction, and Steven - usually her perfect excuse wing-man - remained in Paraguay. Unable to stand another second, she had started to make her way to the bathroom when someone spilled their cheap lager on her.

“Sorry!” The stranger squealed out an apology, and Fallon instantly recognized the accent. It was the girl from earlier. Perhaps this was a blessing - being covered in cheap beer seemed a good enough excuse to leave and go shower.

“It’s all right,” she bit out civilly. She had never in her life been so nice to a drunk person, but the stranger was her express ticket back home. Fallon could have kissed her.

“No, it’s not! That dress looks so expensive and I probably just ruined it. I’m so sorry! Please, just let me help you clean up.”

Fallon heard her friends whisper loudly behind her about the other woman, but she ignored them and followed the stranger to the restroom. The harsh lighting was flattering for neither of them: it washed Fallon out, and made her hair look greasy. Both women’s makeup was cakey and missing around their noses, and the stranger looked sallow and sick under the yellow overheads, her red hair tangling noticeably at the ends. It was clear as mud the end of the night was approaching. They looked rough. But, the stranger was looking more and more familiar. Those brown eyes, freckled collarbones, stress-chewed lips … Fallon _had_ seen her before.

It took an environmentally unfriendly amount of toilet paper to dry her off. The dress could and would be salvaged through an expensive dry-cleaning bill. Still, the stranger made a huge fuss about it and offered to buy her a drink to make up for it. She obliged, still not intoxicated enough for her taste. She ordered a gin and tonic, a usually safe drink which the bartender still somehow messed it up, and laughed obnoxiously at the other girl's commentary about the gradually getting-drunker people around them. Fallon's friends had left without telling her. Typical.

"I'm Kirby, by the way," the stranger said after their second sub-par drink together. They'd been too engrossed in the group of frat boys two tables away to conduct introductions. Fallon choked on her own breath and her heart jumped to her throat and pounded there painfully as the penny dropped. The supposed stranger looked and sounded so familiar because she was her ex-girlfriend. Kirby. She knew that aloof expression was familiar. Her heart hammered painfully as she tried to figure out what the hell to do. Kirby folded her arms over her chest and sat back further in her chair after the brunette didn't respond. "Are you not going to tell me your name, or are you against that?"

“Kirby,” Fallon said, her breathing beyond uneven, “it’s Fallon … Carrington.”

“Oh.”

There was a stiff, animus silence. Neither knew how to react. What was the possibility of bumping into an ex who’d moved to _Australia_ three years ago in a somewhat local bar? It would only happen to them. Acrylic fingernails tapped against the scrubbed wooden tables, soles of stilettos against the sticky linoleum floor. It was excruciating. Fallon’s stomach churned and knotted as she stared down her ex-girlfriend. She doubted it was the alcohol. The ending of their relationship had been far from harmonious, with screaming and crying and moving halfway across the planet.  But, somehow, this was the most uncomfortable either had ever been.

“The last time I saw you, you were blonde,” Kirby said in a way that sounded as though it was supposed to be conversational. Instead, it came off forced and physically painful.

“And Obama was president. Things change, Anders,” _That_ had come off more bitter than Fallon had intended. “You were still dying your hair brown,” she added to soften her end of the dialogue. She wasn’t sure it worked.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you,” the redhead sighed, shaking her head slightly. She pulled a hand through her hair as a confused expression settled on her face. She was overwhelmed too.

“It was probably the alcohol. I mean, I didn’t recognise you either.”

Another silence. They sipped their drinks, black straws twirling in brightly colored cocktails. Fingertips tapped against condensation saturated glasses. Fallon wasn’t sure why she was still sitting there. She had every opportunity to up and leave – there was nothing keeping her from spending time with her ex. But, it was as though she was glued to her seat. She crossed her right leg over her left, bouncing it unconsciously as she looked at everything but Kirby. Eye contact had died minutes ago. They’d been in each other’s presence for less than ten minutes and the brunette was already having a visceral reaction to the redhead. It was surprising how normal this felt, even if their feelings toward one another were anything but bitter. There was something about sitting there in silence that pulled Fallon right back to senior year of college - when Kirby had told her she was moving back to Australia. It was the kind of nostalgia that felt like a punch to the gut.

Kirby’s phone let out an obnoxious _ping!_ that drew them out of their private thoughts. From her ramblings, it sounded like her roommate was sick – or something. Fallon wasn’t listening. All she cared was that she could leave – finally. She’d begged for hours for this to happen, and she’d left a half hour after her friends.

She stood from the table after Kirby had already left, teetering on heels too high for her inebriated self. Her head spun as she put one unsteady leg in front of the other. She hadn’t been this drunk in a _while_. The last thing she remembered was stumbling into the taxi (with some assistance) before inevitably passing out.

 

* * *

 

 

Fallon wasn’t in her own bed the next morning. In fact, she wasn’t in bed at all when she woke up the next morning. Her head throbbed as she tried to find her bearings, deducting she was on an old couch. She had a crick in her neck from her awkward position and her whole body ached from her hangover. It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the sun coming through the open blinds of the room. Against her own will, she sat up, stretching her arms above her head as she looked around, trying to find something familiar.

She didn’t.

Nothing here remotely helped her figure out where she was. If she were in a more flattering state, she would have panicked, but she wasn’t. All she cared about was getting a painkiller and getting to work.

The clock on the wall read after eleven if her blurred vision was somewhat correct, and the apartment was completely still. It would be smartest to just leave - Fallon had already missed both of her meetings and was late to catch up with her father. He was going to kill her, but, she still hadn’t a clue where she was. How was she supposed to get a Lyft if she didn’t know where she was?

It took at least ten minutes for her to realise it. The perfume hanging in the air went from vaguely familiar to completely recognisable in around seven seconds. Replica’s _Lazy Sunday Morning_ should have been the first thing she noticed, but, it had been years. She was at Kirby’s. Everything seemed to make sense. The redhead’s godawful pink denim jacket lay over the arm of a chair on the other side of the room (Fallon could not believe she still owned the dreadful thing) and a stack of terrible horror movies (which Kirby had forced her to endure when they were together) sat proudly in front of the television set. There were dark wood floors throughout the small open plan apartment; various framed sketches lined the white walls. The room was filled with random objects and a surplus of potted plants. There was a physical mountain of pillows on the other couch, with several baskets of more cushions and blankets next to each sofa.  It felt very cluttered, and chaotic, but cozy. The apartment’s atmosphere was what Fallon could only describe as how Kirby used to make her feel.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She knew shouldn’t stay, and she couldn’t figure out the reason she was there. Fallon remembered very little of the night before, but she was sure she would have remembered going home with her ex-girlfriend. She pulled her phone from between the sofa cushions, more than thankful to find it still had fifteen percent battery. It was eleven thirty-seven. There was no point going into work now. She’d come up with an excuse later, but now, she had more important tasks at hand.

Fallon opened her contacts, hoping and praying she still had Kirby’s number. And that, if she did, her number was still the same. It had been three and a half years; the redhead had most likely changed her number. She tapped on her ex’s colorfully named contact and tapped to send a text.

**_Fallon:_ ** _Why the hell am I in your house?_

She didn’t get an immediate response. That was when panic settled over her. Perhaps Kirby _had_ changed her number, and Fallon had just sent a stranger a passive-aggressive message. She didn’t get a written reply at all. Instead, Kirby came into the main living area almost ten minutes later. One of her hands raked through her bed head as she yawned out a greeting.

“Why the hell am I in your house?” Fallon asked again, angrier now that the other woman was there.

“You were really drunk last night. I saw you nearly pass out in your taxi and took you here because you couldn’t string a sentence together and I couldn’t afford a cab to Buckhead,” Kirby explained dismissively, waving a hand and turning on the coffee machine in the kitchen area. The brunette pursed her lips as she realised her ex _had_ done the right thing.

“Well, thanks, I guess. I have to get to work.”

“I see that your priorities haven’t changed.”

Fallon threw a scathing look towards Kirby, who sat on the kitchen counter, her head resting against one of the top cupboards. The redhead bit out a condescending laugh and rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the brunette bluffed. She knew exactly what Kirby was talking about. The other woman looked at her in the same way she looked at her when they argued when they were still together: the deadpan, almost blanched expression with her left eyebrow raised.

“And you still don’t know you’re a terrible liar. You know, you haven’t changed very much at all.”

Fallon wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. She ignored the comment. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, first door on the left.”

The dark wood floors and stark white walls continued down the hallway and into the bathroom. Like the living area, Kirby had cluttered the bathroom with mismatched trinkets in varying colors. The decor matched the redhead’s spontaneous nature: the toilet seat was midnight blue and the shower curtain a bright, opaque yellow. It almost reminded her of the redhead’s dorm room in college; so colorful it made her hungover feel worse. The familiarity almost made her feel better about being in her ex-girlfriend’s house, almost against her will.

“Do you still take your coffee black?” Kirby asked when Fallon was out of the bathroom. It was only then the brunette realized she was in a pair of pyjamas adorned with anthropomorphic avocados. Her reminders of how _odd_ her ex was were getting more frequent by the second.

“And a sugar,” she added with a nod. “I thought you would have forgotten.”

“Nothing about you is forgettable.”

She sat back down on the couch, melting into the Sherpa blanket the other woman had covered her in the night before. She hadn’t been this exhausted since finals week of her senior year of college. She was so exhausted she barely even processed Kirby’s words. She promised herself never to mix cocktails again. She never kept her promises. Kirby could attest to that.

The redhead sat down next to her, sighing into her own cup of creamer with a dash of coffee. They sat in an almost comfortable silence. Everything was too familiar - Fallon needed to leave. She finished her coffee, changed, and left with barely an uttering of goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

Fallon was grateful for what Kirby had done, even if she was horrible at showing it. But, spending that half hour or so together was suffocating; too intimate for the bitter time they’d spent apart. She’d never been so glad to leave anywhere before. The redhead’s presence reminded her too much of how _awful_ she was at relationships and her crippling incapability to show appropriate affection towards significant others. It reminded her of how burdensome getting over Kirby was, and how she blamed her terrible productivity on her “best friend’s” sudden departure.

She slugged into the manor, earning an inquisitive look from her father’s new girlfriend (Fallon had already forgotten her name, he’d gone through so many in such a short burst) and trudged upstairs to her bedroom. Her body ached as though it had been completely drained of energy as she collapsed on her bed with a worn groan. She yearned for sleep, yet her mind refused to allow it ,so she simply laid awake to the thoughts of the redhead, for the first time in over two years.

 

Even the butler reminded her of Kirby.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thanks for continuing with this mess. I'd like to thank Sarah for beta reading for me again!
> 
> As always, happy reading!

Kirby closed the door behind Fallon with an almost relieved sigh. She knew that bringing her home the previous night had been necessary, but being in her presence was unbearable. She had known Fallon since they were fourteen, and while it felt wrong being away from her at first, now, it felt unnatural even thinking about her. The three years they’d spent apart were agonising, but their reunion felt even worse. Long suppressed feelings of heartache came to the surface like fresh wounds and  that little bit of unrealistic hope that they’d get back together reared its ugly head once more. What she had done was necessary, but it still felt wrong.

She brewed her second mug of coffee and remembered the brunette’s constant chidings about her caffeine addiction, and her complaints about how Kirby drank her coffee. The redhead wished the two hadn’t bumped into one another the night before - it certainly would have been much better for her mental health if they hadn’t. Fallon had reintroduced old memories by showing up in the redhead’s mind, and seeing her again only twisted the knife. Fallon Carrington wasn’t someone you just  _ got over _ .

Kirby’s roommate, Lilah, came home around an hour after Fallon left, dawning groceries. 

“Hiya, babes,” she said in greeting, sighing defeatedly as she saw the distraught look on the other woman’s face.

“Hey,” the redhead responded without looking away from the TV.  _ Just Go With It  _ played, muted. She and Fallon used to watch it together when they were drunk and avoiding homework in their sophomore year of college. It was a terrible idea to watch it, but Kirby never seemed to have any good ideas anymore.

“I swear if this is about Fallon Carrington sleeping on our couch this morning I’ll scream,” Lilah said, packing away food into the fridge. “It’s been, like, four years, Kirb.”

“Three,” Kirby corrected sharply, not denying her roommate’s accusations. There was no point in lying - she was bad at it anyway. She could tell her roommate was jealous by the upturn in her voice alone. The two weren’t together, but they weren’t  _ not  _ together, either. Their relationship - if it could even be considered one - was a complicated when-they-were- _ especially _ -lonely kind of thing. “How did you know it was her?”

“Oh, babes. She has more Instagram followers than Gwyneth Paltrow,  I know who she is. Why was she here, anyway? Last time I heard she was dating that politician’s son.”

“She was drunk, ” the redhead bit out, only angry at the situation, but taking it out on her roommate, “I’m going out for a smoke.”

“It’s raining, ” Lilah said pathetically, another failed attempt at getting her to stop.

“I’m not made of sugar.”

The patio door clicked shut behind her, rain pattered against the pavement, and smoke swirled skyward. The redhead watched as cars rushed past, flashes of fog lights glaring through the mist. She sighed heavily. She couldn’t describe how she was feeling, apart from overwhelmed. There were too many thoughts running rampant in her head and all her emotions were intertwining together in inseparable knots. 

Her fingers twitched as she tapped the growing ash off her cigarette, nervous energy passing through her parted lips. Lilah came out and sat next to her a few moments later. Neither said a word. They were perfectly comfortable just sitting there, watching it storm outside.

The redhead turned to face her roommate, wordlessly, to just observe her people-watch the passersby. Her eyes traced down her dye-damaged hair (lavender at the moment) and to her chocolate brown eyes, artificially full lips and her rosy cheeks freckled with sun damage. 

Lilah took the cigarette from between Kirby’s fingers and dropped it, watching it land in the puddle before them. 

“You need to stop. This only started after that headline about the fire at Carrington Manor. I know you Kirby, and this isn’t you.”

The redhead paused for a moment, digesting her words. Lilah was right, but she would never admit that. “You don’t know me.”

“You can believe whatever you want, but, I know that you don’t act this depressed when any of your other exes suddenly pop into your life. I don’t know what happened, but she must have really done a number on you, especially when it’s been so long.”

“It’s not what she did to me, it’s what I did to her.”

Lilah stayed silent after that, unsure of how to respond. Kirby was beyond grateful. She didn’t want to dig up further unhappy memories to her roommate. They were hardly friends, after all.

 

* * *

 

Kirby’s phone vibrating loudly and incessantly woke her, and it didn’t help that Henry the cat was hissing at the noise. It wasn’t even eight o’clock and someone was already calling her. She could have cried. 

She reached for the offending device with her eyes still closed, trying to keep a grasp on sleep. She opened them to read the caller ID. It was her dad. Only Joseph Anders would call  _ anyone  _ at seven thirteen in the morning.

“What do you want, dad?” she greeted, sitting up in her bed and glaring angrily at the winter sun shining through the blinds.

“Hello to you too, my dear daughter. I’ll get to the point since you’re  _ clearly  _ not up to civil conversation. If you don’t have any plans for next Tuesday, I was hoping you’d come for dinner.” 

“Next Tuesday is Christmas.”

“I’m glad you know your dates, Kirby. Are you coming? We haven’t spent Christmas together since you moved. Also, I have to tell Gunnerson how many people we’re having over.”

“Alright. As long as I’m seated as far away from Fallon as possible.”

“I’ll see to it personally,” Anders said, his grin translating through the line.

“Okay, see you then dad.”

“See you then, darling.”

She hung up first, properly awake now, and looked around her room, wrinkling her nose at the mess. It wasn’t messy because it was cluttered like the rest of the apartment - it was messy in the way that it looked like the aftermath of a nuclear war. Clothes were strewn across the white carpeted floor, makeup lay in piles on her dresser instead of in the empty organiser directly adjacent. Her shoes lay  _ around  _ her shoe rack instead of  _ on  _ it. The hundred cushions from her bed were thrown haphazardly in every direction, even the heap of coloured denim jackets she had to sort through mocked her as it sat in her desk chair. 

Kirby threw her legs over the edge of the bed, dragging herself up with the little energy she obtained from the minute amount of sleep she got. Fallon still played on her mind, but she shoved her ex to the back of her subconscious. She’d deal with  _ whatever  _ it was she was feeling later. Now, she needed coffee. Henry weaved between her legs as she walked into the kitchen, mewling hungrily. 

Lilah was already up. She always was. You had to be, when you have a  _ respectable  _ job - one that that you could tell people about without them wincing at the thought of your pay-cheque. She was a junior sales assistant for a pharmaceutical company that Kirby could never remember the name of - whereas, she was a freelance photographer with barely a single consistent client. She was glad her father was so generous with his salary, otherwise, she’d be back in Perth. 

The other woman stood, already dressed, stirring her tea and reading the news on her iPad. Kirby had the feeling she had to apologise (for what, she couldn’t decide), but kept her mouth shut. She’d rather stew than start a fight.

They drank their caffeine in silence, an uncomfortable atmosphere, along with the faint scent of Fallon’s Chanel No.5 hanging in the air after their spat the night before. The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, and the neighbour’s dining chairs could be heard scraping across their linoleum floors. Kirby felt similar to the way she did two days ago with Fallon. Overcome with  _ something. _ The brunette was back to the forefront of her train of thought quicker than she’d predicted - or hoped. 

She may have resented Fallon Carrington with every fibre of her being, but the thought of her still played on her heartstrings. A twinge here when her family is on the news _again_ because someone went missing or they’d blown someone up. Another there, when every fashion outlet reposted her #ootd pictures from an event. Those twinges were the worst when TMZ leaked videos of Fallon with _some_ _guy._ It didn’t hurt that she had moved on, just that she was still lying to herself. She’d promised to stop doing that - but, Fallon Carrington was terrible at keeping promises.

“How are you feeling?” Lilah asked, beginning to load the dishwasher. Her eyes locked with everything but Kirby’s. She felt guilty too, for whatever reason. They hadn’t fought. There shouldn’t have been a reason for there to be any animosity between them. They  _ should _ have been bantering and making small talk. 

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“I’m okay,” the other woman replied, her eye contact as distant. Kirby couldn’t tell if she was lying. She wasn’t  _ not  _ okay. 

“Good to hear. I’ll see you later?”

“See you later.”

For a moment, the apartment was silent apart from the ticking of the multitude of clocks hanging on the walls. Then, Henry started screaming to be fed.   
  


* * *

 

The heating was out. Again. And, in December, their cramped apartment was turning baltic. Lilah had already retired to a friend’s house. She claimed that being from Arizona gave her the inability to stand the cold - as if Kirby wasn’t from  _ Australia.  _ Henry complained loudly from the armchair across the room from where Kirby was sitting. 

“Stop looking at me like that. We’re not leaving. The Bachelor is on tonight and I’m not watching it at Oliver’s house again. His roommate creeps me out.” she said to the cat, shivering as she looked through her Netflix queue. Although she was buried beneath blankets and several jackets, she was freezing. She knew she had to leave or risk hypothermia, but she could really only turn to her dad. Hell would freeze over before she’d stay the night under the same roof as Fallon Carrington again. The last time had been disturbingly awkward, and she’d give anything to not have to do it again.

Then the electricity shuddered off. The pair sat in darkness, the thrum of rain finally making itself heard against the windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was storming, and her apartment had a high flood risk. Kirby was going to  _ have _ to go to Buckhead. She stared at her father’s number for minutes on end, building up the patience to accept she’d have to see Fallon an entire week before planned.   
  


The manor was exactly the same way Kirby remembered it. White marble floors, ridiculously expensive flowers in the foyer, staff scurrying around silently, and the faint smell of champagne hanging in the air. It felt like home. For a moment, it felt like everything was okay again. 

But, everything was too familiar. The tall ceilings, the chandeliers - even Bo. Kirby felt like she was fifteen again, strutting about the house as though she owned it, blasting Backstreet Boys (just because Fallon preferred *NSYNC). She could practically see the moment when Steven left the first time, and the time Fallon had a panic attack because no one had DVRed  _ The Hills  _ for her. She could hear Blake and Alexis’s finals fights, and the parties she was too young and unimportant to attend. She could smell Mrs. Gunnerson’s Thanksgiving dinners, and Alexis’s acrylic paint. 

The combination of the haunting memories the house held and the cold radiating from the stone floors caused a shiver to run up her spine. She swallowed harshly before walking further into the house. Her dad had already gone into a room down the corridor with Henry in his travel crate, and left her to familiarise herself with the place again - as if she’d ever forgotten anything about the house.

Kirby decided to go straight to her room. It was almost eleven o’clock and all she wanted was her bed. The route through the kitchen was committed to muscle memory from years of walking half-asleep when she was caught sleeping in Fallon’s bed. Walking into a stranger ripped her from her almost sleepwalk. He looked more confused than she felt as they exchanged almost incoherent apologies. 

“Sorry,” he said, “Fallon’s freaking out because of the storm and demanded snacks.” He held up the blue  _ Pop Tarts  _ box with a half-hearted sigh. He must have been Fallon’s boyfriend. He  _ was  _ her type: tall, dark hair, debilitatingly attractive. Kirby’s heart tugged slightly at the thought.

“Oh, I forgot she has a weather phobia,” she lied. It was the first thing she thought when she heard the rain - she wouldn’t admit that to her boyfriend, though.

“You must be Kirby. I’m Sam, Steven’s husband,” Sam said, extending a hand. 

_ Oh _ .

“Nice to meet you. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m exhausted and I’ll fall asleep right here if I don’t go to bed now.”

Kirby’s bedroom looked exactly the same as it did when she had moved out at eighteen. The walls were sunflower yellow and plastered with obscure art and long outdated itineraries. Her stuffed animals sat on the bed, her high school notebooks strewn on her desk. There were still polaroids of her and Fallon taped to the mirror on her dresser. The room was cold but dusted - her father had made sure the place had remained identical to how it was when she lived there. It was as if he knew she’d come back. 

She plucked one of the photos from the mirror. It was from their senior prom. They’d brought dates, even though they had already started dating. Fallon had been too afraid to come out and Kirby got it - Blake was far from accepting with anything else his daughter did. The brunette had brought Jeff Colby, the redhead some boy - she couldn’t remember his name. They had fun. It was the first time Fallon had ever told Kirby she loved her - three weeks after the other girl had already confessed. 

Kirby set the picture on the vanity, once again overcome with unresolved feelings for the brunette, with her blue eyes and gentle kisses and teasing jokes.

She reached for another, them at their graduation when there was a knock on her door.

“Goodnight, darling. Fallon will have left by eight tomorrow. You won’t have to hide for too long,” her dad said with a sad smile. He hadn’t told Blake she was staying. She understood, he probably wouldn’t have allowed it. 

“Thanks, dad. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

Too familiar. It had been a terrible idea coming here. Kirby should have stayed with Oliver instead. His weird roommate was much easier to stand than the Carringtons- at least she didn’t have eleven years of history with him.

She shut off the light and climbed into her bed. The second her head hit the pillow, every ounce of fatigue her body with disappeared. She was no longer tired. Kirby felt as though she was trespassing as she lay there. This wasn’t her house anymore. This was Fallon’s territory and she had no business being here.  She’d leave after breakfast and cancel her plans for Christmas. There was no way she’d be able to cope with being around Fallon. She couldn’t do that to herself. She wouldn’t do that to herself. Not for Fallon Carrington. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

Kirby would be lying if she said she didn’t miss breakfast at the manor. The croissants, costly coffee and cheese platters were much superior to her usual grey porridge and instant coffee. Her stomach shouted with hunger as she thought about it, waiting for the clock to tick past eight. Fallon would still be lurking around, and she couldn’t risk bumping into her. She didn’t have the energy for a small-scale war at a quarter to eight in the morning, not that her ex-girlfriend didn’t know she was there. Sam must have told her. Kirby hadn’t heard her usual tirade of the kitchen yet and she was supposed to leave within fifteen minutes. She wouldn’t come anywhere near her.

It was funny how they’d been inseparable less than three years ago, and now they could hardly stand being in the same building as one another. They once knew every single detail of the other’s life and now they were practical strangers. It wasn’t  _ really _ funny, but Kirby told herself it was to prevent herself from thinking of what they could have been - she’d gone down that rabbit hole enough times to know she never came out of it in one piece. 

A knock on her bedroom door told her Fallon had left. She could finally come out of hiding, not that she wanted to even think about facing Blake. 

He’d always had something against her - it was as if he knew about her secret relationship with Fallon. She knew from experience he didn’t take well to lying and sneaking around. 

All she had to do was eat and leave. She didn’t even have to speak to anyone. 

She’d be out of their hair as soon as possible.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you again for reading this! I just quickly wanted to thank Amanda (@eastsidewidow) for beta reading this for me!  
> Also, I'd like to apologise for the delayed update. It might be this way for a little while because my exams are coming up and will last until the end of June. I'm really sorry about that!  
> Anyways, thank you for reading!!

For six days, Fallon had done an excellent job at avoiding Kirby like she had the plague. They hadn’t run into one another once. She wasn’t sure why her ex-girlfriend had suddenly taken up residence in her house again; she didn’t care enough to ask -or that’s what she wanted Anders to believe, anyway. She planned to keep this up for as long as possible, and only stay in the redhead’s presence for the shortest amount of time she could. It was what she was good at, running away from her problems until they caught up with her and ruined her life. 

But, this only lasted for six days. The one Sunday Fallon’s brunch plans fell through (Genevieve was sick and refused to let her friends have fun without her), Kirby was home. The brunette assumed the other woman would have her day scheduled perfectly to evade her. That had been their arrangement thus far. But, of course, this wasn’t the case. 

“Good morn-” Fallon’s words caught in her throat and halted when her eyes fell upon her ex-girlfriend. It was bizarre to see her sitting there, wedged between New Cristal and Steven (she wasn’t sure when he  had  go tten back, as he had been completely MIA just three days ago), and was in avid conversation with Sam, who was sitting next to Fallon’s seat. It was where she used to sit. Directly facing Fallon. There, they could play footsy and make unsubtle faces at one another from across the table. It took everything the brunette had to stop herself from taking some food and eating elsewhere and, instead, sit down with her family for breakfast. The former would admit defeat; surrender her house to Kirby. She would not let that happen. She refused to allow her to come in and take over the house after disappearing for three years. 

“Good morning,” Cristal replied cheerily. Fallon wasn’t sure how she felt about New Cristal. She and Blake had only been dating for three months and had already discussed marriage. He had been acting as though he hadn’t just lost his last wife, but he had an awful habit of filling emotional voids with new girlfriends. Fallon doubted this would last. His relationships never did. 

Kirby sent a scathing look from across the table. It was blatant she was not happy with this unexpected rendezvous, either. Fallon couldn’t care less what her ex thought of her presence inside of her own house. If she had a problem, the redhead could leave. The brunette smiled in response. She would not let Kirby think her being around was affecting her. In reality, she couldn’t stand the thought of the redhead parading about the place in her abhorrent clothes with that dreadful cat. She couldn’t stand the thought of her terrible taste in television constantly being on display in the lounge again, or her unnecessarily loud midnight trips to the kitchen for apples and peanut butter. Fallon couldn’t stand Kirby being around. She didn’t miss it. She was perfectly happy without her.

The conversation they’d been having before Fallon entered the dining room died quickly. Sam and Steven exchanged an impatient look She had interrupted. The sound of cutlery scraping against plates was the only one to be heard as her family ate in silence. She looked up from her breakfast to see Kirby’s still irritated expression glaring right back at her, years of unresolved tension clear on her face. The redhead had always had problems keeping her emotions off of her face; she would get in trouble for failing to hide her disinterest or amusement while in school. She never developed a poker face. It was one of the many, many things that Fallon deplored about her ex-girlfriend. The brunette kept her face blanched; bored, but held the eye contact. She had a talent for making Kirby uncomfortable with stare-offs. The other woman looked away after several moments, both of them (and everyone else in the room) uncomfortable from their prolonged exposure to one another. Perhaps taking her food to-go was a better idea.

Steven and Blake exchanged several confused looks. Neither knew why Kirby and Fallon had such a sudden hatred for one another. Last time they’d checked, they were two best friends tragically separated because one of their mothers was ill. They expected a tearful, joyous reunion, not the bitter standoff they were experiencing now. Cristal made several attempts to liven up the conversation again, talking about things like Christmas and New Year’s resolutions. She was greeted with incoherent murmurs as responses. Apparently,  no one had told her that the breakfast table was reserved for talk about work and animosity-filled silences only. Everyone but Fallon and Kirby searched for something to ease the awkwardness, but were met with more hostile quips and angry glares. 

“It’s been quite a while, Kirby, how have you been?” Blake asked, seemingly desperate to dissolve the tension. 

“Why are you talking to her?” Fallon asked, her voice raised and riddled with accusation. Her father raised an eyebrow in reply, still utterly baffled about the whole situation.

“I’ve been fine, Blake. Thank you,” Kirby said politely, smiling for a moment before glowering at the brunette. It didn’t feel possible, but the tension in the room doubled.

“We’re all getting better,” he replied with a weak smile. He was referring to the fire. Fallon didn’t know how he could bring it up without vomiting. She shook her head. She could not believe her father could physically bring himself to talk about it. She knew she couldn’t.

“Can we not talk about this?” she asked, but it seemed no one heard her. The conversation continued on as though she hadn’t opened her mouth. She wasn’t even sure if she’d spoken given how her family ignored her.

“It’s been hard,” Steven added, taking Sam’s hand, “but at least we’re all together again.” He said that as though he hadn’t disappeared to South America for five months the second he got out of the hospital.

“They were so broken when I came along,” New Cristal said, adding to a conversation she knew little about. Fallon almost yelled at her to shut up.

Kirby nodded as though she could ever be empathetic to their situation, “it must have been terrible. I wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t sure if it would be okay. You know, I haven’t talked to any of you in so long.” The brunette almost choked on her mimosa. There was no way the other woman had even thought of them when she heard about the fire. She didn’t care about them; she’d made that much clear.

Fallon hadn’t touched her breakfast. She was too angry, conflicted, or anxious (she couldn’t decide) to eat. Her own family was fraternising with the enemy, and discussing their mutual trauma with practical strangers, enemy included. She couldn’t bear it any longer. Kirby’s presence (as much as she resented to admit it) was suffocating her. Panic rose in her chest with every passing second, dread crashing in waves in the back of her mind. Her vision blurred as she listed every reason she disliked Kirby in her head. It was the only thing keeping hold of her sanity.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re reaching out now,” Steven and his too forgiving self excused her. Fallon couldn’t believe he was sticking up for Kirby.

That was when her rationale fell out the window. She stood up from the table, mumbling an excuse to leave. She didn’t wait for any sort of approval, she was already in the foyer before she could process what was happening. Her mind reeled. Fights with Kirby before she left echoed in her head; words as fresh as when they had first left their mouths and Real Cristal’s voice bounced around in her skull like rubber balls, and the flicker of flames danced in the back of her eyes. She attempted to suck in a breath, but it was as though her lungs had collapsed; oxygen refused to go in. The entranceway spun as she tried to focus her gaze on the vase of lilies in the middle of the room, but they were becoming bleary and moving around sporadically. Something was terribly wrong. She had to leave. She was flabbergasted her father and brother could even bring themselves to talk about it. She knew even thinking about it made her nauseous. 

Fallon’s feet were acting of their own accord, bringing her out of the house before she could even think of what she was doing. She was in no state to drive and the family were currently without a driver. She wasn’t sure what to do. It was freezing as she stood outside, glaring at the acres of neatly groomed land surrounding her home. She needed to leave, that much was certain. The sounds of the few birds that remained on the estate were like nails on a chalkboard, the winter sun too bright and dizzying. Everything was too much. Her breathing slowed and evened, but her heart continued to hammer in her throat. At least she wasn’t crying. She hated crying. She was tired of crying. 

She sat down on one of the benches on either side of the front door. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she tried order her thoughts. Fallon knew she couldn’t go back inside yet. She had most likely just unintentionally caused a scene and she was too mortified to make a reappearance, especially when Kirby was still lurking around. She wasn’t sure what to do. She would usually go to Steven when she felt like this, but he was inside and would call her irrational. She wanted to sit there, mull over her thoughts and stew in her own anxiety, but the groundsmen would be around somewhere and stare at her as though they’d never seen a woman before. She had to go somewhere. Sitting outside on her patio was pathetic, and Fallon Carrington was  _ anything _ but pathetic.

Fallon pulled her phone out of her pocket, several emails coming through at once. They were all work-related, as usual. She could go to work. She had plenty of work to do, playing catch-up after her time off earlier in the year. There was a backlog of videos to be approved, and she needed to come up with a general concept for the women and business project she was expected to be launching. She should go to work. 

 

* * *

The office reeked of cheap, lemon-scented cleaning products. The foyer shone brightly in the winter sun, polished white floors reflecting blindingly as Fallon walked through, quite aware of how alone she was. No one else was here. Not even Blake Carrington expected his employees to work on Sundays. She took the stairs. Nobody was around to tease her for her irrational fear of lifts or to bump into her and send her flying down the staircase. As she ascended to her floor, she calmed her breath, her heart rate already under control. The forty-minute taxi journey had been more than helpful, but her hands still shook if she didn’t focus on stopping them from doing so.

She stopped, taking a moment to look out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had begun to rain, the sky suddenly overcast with black clouds. Of course. The  _ one _ time she was alone in the office, it  _ would _ storm. She took a shaky breath and continued upwards to her floor. She had never been so glad to see her too-small-for-her-pay-grade office. Somehow, her office always calmed her. Something about productivity soothed her soul. She turned on the corridor’s lights as she passed the switch; the sky got darker by the second as walked into her office. Fallon sat down in her chair and stretched her arms above her head before logging into her computer. 

She drummed her fingers against the desk, impatiently watching the buffering sign pinwheel as her emails loaded. Tens appeared in her inbox, all of them detailing how she would approach the sale of Carrington Atlantic or her assistant’s constant nagging about the women in business project. Jeannette liked to harp on about schemes and arrangements until Fallon threatened to fire her. Her eyes glanced at the to-do list in the sidebar of her calendar and she sighed at the sheer amount of tasks she had to do. She cracked her fingers and opened a blank Word document. She had to start somewhere. 

Fallon pulled the rings on and off of her fingers. She had been working for no longer than twenty minutes and her mind had already given up. Her focus was on everything but the task at hand. She should have known leaving herself alone with her thoughts was a terrible idea. All she could think about was her ex-girlfriend and getting more attention from her brother than she’d gotten in months. Kirby had an awful habit of worming her way into people’s hearts and refusing to leave. There was something so likeable about the redhead that Fallon found it difficult to hate her, even though she’d broken her heart. She stared at the page for a few moments more, her mind wracked for an idea; something productive to do. 

Her attempts were feeble. Her mind circled right back to Kirby. The redhead left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, the same kind as school graduations or seeing an old classmate in public. Kirby was the punch in the gut of nostalgia and the slap of indifference - and triggered Fallon’s flight or fight response. The redhead brought out the worst in Fallon; she knew that. Hiding away in her office benefited both of them. Fallon wouldn’t become unreasonable and Kirby wouldn’t get hurt. The brunette was being the selfless one for once. That’s what she told herself, anyway. Anything to stop herself from realising she was running from her ex-girlfriend.  

Hours ticked by. Fallon ignored the claps of thunder and streaks of lightning outside as she typed and retyped the same four sentences over and over again. Her leg bounced as she crossed them. She sat back in her chair with a defeated sigh, admiring her three pages of work. She exited from the documents out of anger when her phone rang. She glared at the caller ID for a moment before registering she had to answer it. It was her father.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Where are you?” Blake responded, more than used to his daughter’s blunt greetings. 

“I’m at work,” she said, putting her phone on speaker and continuing to type nonsensical drivel. Anything to sound worthwhile. “Since when do you check up on me? I’m twenty-five, dad, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Since you run out of breakfast mid-panic attack and disappear for eleven hours. I’m worried about you, Fallon. When are you planning on coming home?” 

Fallon, to her knowledge, had never concerned her father. 

“I’m getting a lot of work done. I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’m nearly caught up on last month’s stats.”

“You need to come home.”

“No. I’m finally getting work done. And I don’t want to see Kirby right now.”

“What happened with you and Kirby?” Blake asked. Her tension must have been blatant if even her father noticed it. He sounded as though he wanted to have a conversation unrelated to work. That was new. He most likely wanted to get her talking so he could guilt her into coming home before she was ready. So, Fallon hung up. She knew her father well and knew he was impeccable at emotional manipulation. He could have her home within ten minutes. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t face her father or New Cristal or Steven. She wasn’t even sure she could face the house itself. It was oddly claustrophobic for its size. 

She turned off her phone and threw it into a drawer. She returned her gaze to the screen, tired eyes straining to focus on the video she had to approve. She couldn’t make out the figures or what they were. She looked at the time in the bottom corner of the monitor. It took a few seconds for her eyes to focus. It was almost eleven o’clock. This would not be her first all-nighter at the office. They were a common occurrence when she had first started, working ridiculous hours to prove to her father she was able to handle a job with sustenance, but it  _ had _ been a while. For the year-and-a-half she’d been head of PR, she’d been quite comfortable to come in at nine and leave at five with the people she’d called slackers only two years ago. 

That ended now. 

 

* * *

Fallon was awoken the next morning by a sharp rap on her office door. She sat up, rubbing a contact lens from her left eye and taking a moment to find her bearings. She caught her reflection in her computer monitor and shuddered. She was going to have to walk around work looking like she had a hangover. The person at the door knocked again, more impatient this time.

“Yes, come in! My god!” she said, a headache coming on quickly. Her assistant, Jeanette, came into the office, a scowl on her face and three to-go cups in her hands. She must have gotten her emails sent at four in the morning and pieced two and two together. She set the cup holder on the desk with a disappointed glare and pulled her iPad from her under her arm.

“You slept here last night?” she asked with a tut. She shook her head and continued on, “you have a meeting with Mr Carrington at eleven and you need to approve some details for the women in business project. Then you need to go home. Your dad told me to tell you that.” 

“I was supposed to have a meeting with Max van Kirk at nine-thirty,” Fallon said, now alert. She was to come up with a merging plan with Liam’s uncle this morning. Carrington Atlantic’s sale was supposed to be finalised today. She would look so unprofessional if she didn’t show up. She still had three-quarters of an hour to fix herself. She had to be at that meeting.

“He had an emergency back in New York. It’s been rescheduled to next Monday. Don’t worry. Just look over the file I emailed you and drink your coffee,” the assistant said, now smiling cautiously at Fallon as though she was a child. “You need to go home and sleep.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“Someone has to be.”

The brunette responded with a scathing look and redirected her focus towards her screen. She logged back into her email, which had timed out in the two-and-a-half hours she had been asleep. She had three emails, each from her father. She sighed heavily as she read two of them that told her she had to go home immediately (she had hoped Jeannette was lying), while the other was reminding her about their meeting. She had to meet him in his office instead of the board room. It wouldn’t be professional. It would be more of a sore attempt of a father-daughter moment. 

“You can go now,” she said bitterly as she took one of the cups of coffee. One sip told her that her father was right. She did, desperately, need to go home. Fallon watched her assistant leave before opening a drawer and rummaging through for her “just in case” flask. She poured its contents into the to-go cup before taking a sip and realising Jeannette had gotten her order wrong.

All she had to do before her meeting was approve the location for the women in business project and hire a photographer. She would get someone else to do that. She was so frustrated that her father didn’t believe she could get through a full workday. She wanted to strangle him for it.

Fallon was finished with her pre-meeting work within twenty-seven minutes, and it only took her that long because she spent half of the time drinking at eight in the morning. She stared at the bottom right corner of the screen, watching as minutes slowly bled into one another. She tapped her fingers against her desk impatiently as she waited for eleven o’clock. It felt as though it would never come. The wait was mind-numbing. 

“Mr Carrington is able to see you now,” Jeanette said an hour or so later, nearly two hours before the meeting was supposed to be. Fallon would have been glad if it didn’t mean she had to go home immediately afterwards. She nodded dismissively and closed the blank word document she’d been staring at for forty-five minutes.

She walked seven doors down the corridor to her father’s office, taking a deep breath and counting to ten before knocking on the door. Blake called for her to come in. 

“Yeah?” she said, closing the door behind her and standing in front of it. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. 

“We need to talk,” her father said, gesturing toward the chairs before his desk.  “Sit down, you’ll be here a while.”  _ Great. _

She did as she was told and raised an eyebrow. “How come we’re in here? I thought all meetings were to take place in either the board or conference room.”

“This is more personal than professional. It would be inappropriate to talk about this there,” he said, standing and pouring out two tumblers of scotch and handing one to his daughter. 

She took it from him and pursed her lips. “Isn’t it a little early for drinking?”

“You say that as though you haven’t dosed your coffee with something already. Fallon, why did you sleep here last night?”

“I didn’t sleep here. I pulled an all-nighter to catch up on work - like you’ve been hounding me to do for the last two months. I got everything done.”

“I haven’t been hounding you to do anything. Why did you stay overnight in the office?” Blake was more stern as he leant forward on his chair, resting his weight on his forearms.

“I had work to do,” Fallon repeated, her voice wobbling with worry. Her father was going to pull her inhibitions of Kirby from her. Again, his emotional manipulation was impeccable. Getting people to talk was his strong suit.

“It has nothing to do with your mother leaving again, does it?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Fallon, you need to talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“Clearly, since you decided talking about the fire yesterday morning was such a good idea after I asked you not to.”

“Fallon-”

“You’re only doing this because of New Cristal. You don’t suddenly care. You haven’t before.” Fallon stood up from her seat, adrenaline the only reason she was able to, “I’m going home. Don’t try talking to me.”

She left his office, and then the building. She stood outside the building, stranded - and regretting yesterday’s outfit - again, for the second day running. She rolled her eyes at herself and pulled her phone from her pocket. She typed in her passcode: 54729, and ordered a Lyft. She wasn’t going home- there was too much of a risk of running into her father. She’d rather be anywhere else but there. Fallon scrolled through her contacts, ruling out people she hated more than her family. She stopped on a number, debating it for a moment before clicking call.

“Liam? Is it okay if I come over?”


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long to update! As I mentioned in the last chapter, I'm knee-deep in exam season so this really isn't my priority at the moment. I have 19 exams in the next month so I don't think I'll have an update until after they finish. Again, I'm so sorry.
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!

Kirby didn't like to be alone in the house. The still silence blanketed over the manor sent unpleasant shocks of dread down her spine. She wasn't sure where this had come from. She loved spending time on her own, but she liked to know there was someone else nearby to be safe.

She sat at the dining room table, in her old seat. It had caused the day before, but Fallon wasn't here. Sam had said she hadn't come home the night before. She supposed the brunette was at work. She was always at work. She used to stay overnight at the office to meet deadlines on a weekly basis. It was the way Fallon was.

Kirby let her eyes drift from her Instagram feed to the empty chairs surrounding her and felt her heart race for a moment. Everyone else had gone to work or gone out with friends while she stirred her porridge absently and stared at the painting hanging opposite her. It was typical. She had to make plans to go back to her apartment when everyone around her was doing something productive with their lives. It had been the case since she had first moved to Atlanta almost thirteen years before. She was still an outsider, even after all the time that had passed.

Kirby's phone let out an obnoxious  _ping,_ too loud for so early in the morning. She rolled her eyes and turned down its volume before checking the notification. It was a text from Lilah.

**_lilah khan:_ ** _heating is still down and power is still iffy ... won't be fixed till after christmas_

_Perfect._ It was just what Kirby needed. She had been counting down the days until she could go home. To get as far away from Fallon as humanly possible while staying Atlanta. She pushed her bowl away from her out of frustration. This would only happen to her. She could never catch a break. She lifted her breakfast, only half-eaten, and brought it into the kitchen. A few of the staff were busying themselves as she placed the bowl in the dishwasher. They looked at her as though she had seven heads. She had forgotten she didn't have to do that while she was here. It had been a while.

Her room sat spotlessly. She didn't like it. It was foreign to see a room so empty. Kirby remembered feeling the same way when she'd moved to the manor the first time. Her mother's house was always cluttered with useless trinkets and decorated with her drawings from preschool. Her own apartment was always somewhat untidy and disorderly. Here, her belongings were lined in neat rows along shelves and the photographs she'd blue-tacked to her mirror were now in a decorative box on her dresser tied with a bow. She didn't like it. She needed to go home.

Kirby sat on her bed, debating whether she should go back to her apartment despite its lack of basic necessities. She reasoned living with no electricity for a few days was better than being haunted by the ghosts of her past. Her things were still in her suitcase, forever aware of the threat of Fallon kicking her out unexpectedly. She was surprised it hadn't happened yet.

Her phone startled her from her thoughts. She fished it from her back pocket and furrowed her brow in confusion when she saw the private number.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi, is this Kirby Anders?" the voice on the other end of the line responded. Kirby could hear them typing and could tell they were doing a million and one other things.

"Yeah. Can I help you?"

"This is Jeannette Clarke. I work for Carrington Atlantic's PR department. Would you be available for a project starting Monday?"

Carrington Atlantic. As in the Carringtons she was currently living with. There was no way she'd be able to take the job. Fallon was head of PR if she remembered correctly. There was a high chance she'd have to work with her ex-girlfriend. The brunette would have never allowed this. Never. But, she most likely had to approve potential employees before they were hired. Fallon must have okayed this if Kirby was getting the call. Plus, she desperately needed the money.

"Hello?" Jeanette Clarke said after a few moments.

"Yeah, hi. Er... yeah, I'll be available. Can I ask what the project entails?"

"It's the annual women in business shoot. It shouldn't take longer than a few hours. So you're available?"

"Yes."

"I'll send you the details to the email on your website?"

"Great. Yeah, thanks."

Kirby almost screamed when the call ended. This would be her first major job since getting back to Atlanta. So far, she'd only done a few birthday parties and a dog's maternity shoot, but nothing like the work she had in Australia. For a long time, she wondered if moving back was a good idea. She'd left her friends and family and her job... things had changed drastically since the last time she had been to America. She still wasn't sure if she'd made the right decision.

Kirby went upstairs, her room smothering her. It reminded her too much of before, of Fallon. Fallon had helped choose the colour of the paint and the bedding and the cheap Ikea furniture. There wasn't much of the room that the brunette hadn't picked out or gifted. Kirby had to get away from it. She was counting the seconds until she could go home again. She couldn't bear another day in the manor. If it were possible, she'd live without power and heating for a week if it meant she could get away from her ex. But, her father wouldn't allow it.

She hadn't been upstairs for long when she heard the door slam and the sound of heels against marble floors march their way to the kitchen. Fallon was home, and that was Kirby's cue to go back into hiding. She was halfway done cleaning away evidence she'd come out of her room when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, sitting down next to her on the settee. She hadn't heard him come home.

"Fallon's home," she said as though it was obvious. Clearly, Sam didn't understand the whole avoiding one another thing.

"That wasn't my question. Where are you going?"

"I was going to my room. I'm still not ready to see Fallon again," Kirby explained, rolling her eyes. It had taken him far too long to catch on. She had thought her feelings were blatant. Apparently not.

"What happened with you two? Steven told me you were best friends before."

"After I moved home, we fell out. It was over something stupid but we never resolved it and holding a grudge is a talent of hers. I don't really want to talk about it." Kirby liked Sam and felt bad about lying to him, but she did not know him nearly well enough to relay all of her life mistakes to him. She just hoped and prayed he wouldn't ask Fallon the same question.

"So, it was your fault?" Sam asked, wincing from premature second-hand embarrassment.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Kirby snapped, her face heating.

"Okay, sorry," he said. There was a momentary silence. She was mortified. She'd barely known Sam for a week and she had already lost her temper with him. This was so typical.

Only to make matters worse, Fallon strutted into the room with a deep scowl on her face, "do you know where Steven is?" She was talking to Sam, she didn't even acknowledge Kirby's existence.

"He isn't home yet," the redhead replied, glaring daggers at the other woman.

"I wasn't talking to you," the brunette barked. Her glower moved from Sam to Kirby, anger emanating from her.

"Do you want to join us? We were going to watch a movie," Sam suggested in what seemed like a desperate yet futile attempt to diffuse the situation. It wasn't working.

"We are?" the redhead asked. Her plan was still to go hide in her room.

"Yes," he hissed, nudging her in the ribs, "do you?"

"I'd rather not," Fallon replied with a look of disdain, "I'll be upstairs if you need me, Sam." And with that, she pranced out of the room in her ridiculous hot pink pantsuit and teetering stilettos. Kirby rolled her eyes, pretending it didn't hurt that Fallon so openly despised her. Their relationship deteriorated more than she had expected.

"You two probably just need to talk it out," Sam said.

"You've grossly underestimated her hatred of me."

 

* * *

 

 

Kirby wanted to cry when her father walked into her room proceeding a sharp rap on the door. She had already successfully avoided breakfast by faking a migraine. She had been lucky her father had believed her. She didn't want to see the Carringtons. She's been forced to go to bed early the night before, uninvited to the Christmas Eve festivities. Fallon was probably against it, and as she was already in such a foul mood, no one wanted to anger. That's what Kirby told herself, anyway. Not that she was upset about it. She'd been able to catch up on The Bachelor and she talked to Lilah for a while before she went to sleep. She found out their landlord was in Cabo for Christmas as wouldn't be back until well into the new year. She was stuck in the manor.

She was curled up in bed, watching Netflix when her father entered, looking stern as usual. He sighed at her unkempt appearance - her pyjamas and a hoodie from mid-way through university. How was he supposed to coax her upstairs when she looked as though someone had dragged her through a hedge backwards?

"Get dressed, lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes," he said, scowling further at the untidiness of the bedroom.

"But... Fallon's upstairs. I'm really not that hungry. I can wait until after to eat. I'm okay," Kirby tried to reason, but her father was having none of it.

"You'll go upstairs and eat lunch with the family. You can swap seats with Ms Jennings or Sammy-Joe, I don't care, but you will eat  _now._ " And that was final.

She slipped out of bed, shivering from the frigid temperature of her room. It had never been well heated. That was why she and Fallon had always spent the night in the brunette's room when they lived in the manor. She shook her head to physically rid her mind of the memories. It almost worked. She pulled open her wardrobe door, searching for something mildly appropriate for Christmas lunch with the  _Carringtons._ If her memory served her, it was always ridiculous and extravagant for no reason other than they could afford it. The thought now made Kirby somewhat uncomfortable.

She put on her largest, most fake grin as she entered the dining room. Everyone else seemed bored at best. Cristal was sitting in her seat, and Fallon did not look pleased - not that she ever did. Although, her sour expression softened slightly when she saw the redhead sit as far away as possible from her.

"Good afternoon, Kirby," Blake was first to speak, "good to see you're feeling better."

Kirby wasn't sure how to respond, so she nodded and smiled tightly. Steven quickly saved her starting up a conversation she had would not have to take part in. She could easily sit and observe before escaping down to her room again until lunch. She wasn't complaining, anything to get away from Fallon.

Servers came out after a few moments, arms full of food no one would finish and trays filled with champagne and mulled wine. It was excessive, as it had been every other time Kirby had been there for the holiday. She used to think it was amazing, almost a spectacle. Now it just made her think of all the nights she'd had toast for dinner.

She used to love Christmas at the manor, but now it all seemed so wasteful, particularly thinking back to watching Steven and Fallon open gift after expensive gift with fake gratitude and enthusiasm. Kirby debated slinking back down to her room and hiding until someone noticed she'd escaped. Right then, she would have much rather sat in her freezing apartment in the dark. Anything would have been better than watching Cristal and Fallon try and fail to be civil with one another. Kirby thought she might die of boredom (and perhaps jealousy).

Blake stood up, presumably to make a toast. This never ended well. She had seen his proclamation of  _Blake Time_ at the Carrington Atlantic's hundredth anniversary part. That had been a disaster, God knows what he would say in the company of just his family.

"I'd like to say a few words," he said, earning a collective groan from his children and Sam, and gentle encouragement from Cristal.

"This is usually something reserved for Thanksgiving, but Steven missed that, so I'll say it now. I am eternally grateful for the people sitting at this table and that they're all in good health. I know six months ago I wasn't exactly able to say that, but we've come far and I'm happy to say, my love, Cristal was there to help us through it."

The hair on Kirby's arm stood, her stomach churned, and she lost her appetite. She looked to Fallon who looked as though she wanted to cry or scream or vomit - or perhaps all at once. The brunette shook her head and whispered something to herself. Kirby didn't quite hear her. It was blatant the fire had a much larger impact on the family than what the press released. It was a media cesspool, but mostly because Cristal Carrington the first had died and there were four million dollars of damage. The family's well-being and supposed injuries were never mentioned.

Guilt settled in the pit of the redhead's stomach. She had seen the news coverage, which then she had found excessive. She was well aware of what had happened, but she talked herself out of reaching out. She'd caused too much hurt in the family, she thought she would only add insult to injury, so she kept away from it. She wasn't sure she made the right decision. The family meant too much to her, even after all this time, for her to ignore such a tragedy.

Nothing had stopped her from getting in contact, making sure they were okay, but she sat at home and felt sorry for herself. It was a talent of hers.

 

* * *

 

 

Kirby escaped the dining room and almost sprinted into the parlour, more than glad to get away from Blake's scotch-infused life lessons. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, the only light source the television playing a black and white movie. She recognised it as  _Sunset Boulevard_ by Fallon's ability to recite it word-perfect as she curled up on the couch. That's where she had disappeared to.

It surprised Kirby that the other woman still did this. It was a tradition the brunette had even before she had known her, but it had turned into something they would do together every Christmas evening. They would eat Christmas pudding and drink champagne (even though Kirby wasn't a fan) and the redhead would poke fun at what she thought were ridiculous accents while Fallon chastised her for supposed blasphemy. Kirby's heart tugged the  _tiniest_  bit at the memory.

"I thought you would be sick of this by now," she said, startling Fallon. The redhead smiled playfully, alcohol blanketing over her judgement. She was acting as though the two were friends when in reality they could barely look at one another.

"It's a classic. It would be sacrilegious to get sick of it. Plus, it's a tradition. I have to watch it or it isn't Christmas," Fallon said, her gaze only leaving the screen for a moment to survey the other woman. She didn't wear her usual scowl or glare, but a tired, ghost of a smile and a gentle flush. She patted the couch next to her; an invitation for Kirby to sit down.

She raised an eyebrow at the gesture. It was a very drastic and sudden change in demeanour. Only hours ago one another's existence was irritating. To sit and watch a movie, like old times, was the last thing Kirby had expected them to do after their encounter earlier on in the day.

She sat on the opposite side of the couch to Fallon, discarding her drink (which she'd never heard of) on the side table adjacent. The film was more than half-way through, but she had it almost committed to memory. She could figure out what was going on with little issue.

"Why do you like this so much?" Kirby asked once it was over. They had been sitting in almost comfortable silence for a while, not exactly enjoying each other's company but not disliking it, either. It felt familiar. The redhead wasn't sure if it was in a good way.

"It's my mom's favourite."

Kirby wanted to ask about Alexis, how she was supposedly back on the scene, but she hadn't seen the woman once in the week and a half she'd been at the manor. The blonde had been known to go on spa trips she'd never return from. The redhead thought it insensitive to bring it up. She knew all too well about Fallon's mommy issues.

There was another silence, this one less comfortable than the last, but not unpleasant. Still too familiar for Kirby's taste. The more she thought about, the less she found comfort in the familiarity. There were a million and one things she wanted to say; a million and one things she wanted to fix, yet the words caught in her throat and her thoughts tangled together in an incoherent mess of unresolved feelings toward Fallon. So, she stayed quiet, listening to the faint sound of merry drunkenness from the room next to them.

Fallon picked up a tumbler from the side table next to her, took a sip and settled further into the couch. Kirby didn't notice the glass until then. She had been too busy watching the movie to pay the other woman any mind.

"I thought you stopped drinking."

The brunette looked to God for a moment before turning to face her ex-girlfriend, looking adamantly disinterested, "that's what everyone says after a bad hangover." Her words began to slur and an idiotic grin began to spread over her face. She was around four drinks deep. Four-drink-Fallon was dopey Fallon.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"You sound like Steven. You know, you used to be fun," Fallon said or at least tried to. She giggled to herself, scooting herself closer to the other woman.

"How do you know I'm not fun now? You seem to love running away from me," Kirby said, almost teasingly, but it came across a lot meaner than she'd intended.

"Do you remember the time we went to New York, and we got lost? That was fun!"

"We remember New York very differently. Getting lost in a city I'd never been to was not my definition of fun, Fallon."

"Do you remember that  _one_ party in college where Kai jumped off the roof into the pool?" Fallon asked.

 _Vaguely_. Kirby nodded. It surprised her the brunette remembered it, though.

"You were really fun at that party. Like really  _really_ fun."

The redhead was fairly sure she got in a fight with Tiffany Laverty at that party, but she nodded nonetheless. Fallon was in no shape to effectively recall things from six years ago.

"We had fun in Savannah, too."

"I thought we agreed to never speak about what happened in Savannah."

Of course, she remembered that. The pair shared a brief laugh but inwardly cringed at the memory of their last vacation together. Kirby rolled her eyes and looked to the other woman, who was now much closer to her than she had been ten minutes ago. They were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Kirby could feel the heat radiating off of Fallon's body. This time, the familiarity was comfortable. She felt as though she was eighteen again, and everything was okay. Fallon rested her head on her ex-girlfriend's shoulder, clearly feeling the same way. The redhead wrapped her arms around the other woman, just like old times. Neither of them seemed to want to move.

Kirby's brain fogged into blissful ignorance. The brunette had always been a more powerful aphrodisiac than alcohol, but the redhead didn't think the other woman would still have such a hold over her after so long. They melted into one another, basking in each other's intoxication. It felt wrong it was hard to differentiate where Fallon ended and Kirby began, but old feelings of intimacy flooded back and everything felt right again. Kirby wished time would stop, so she could stay there and hold Fallon for as long as she needed to. She supposed she'd never let go if she was given the opportunity. Fallon felt like home and Kirby hadn't felt at home in years.

Fallon lifted her head, eyes raising to meet with the other woman's. They locked for a long moment, their breathing slow and synchronised. Her gaze flicked between eye contact and the redhead's lips. Kirby knew this would be a terrible idea and would have catastrophic consequences, but Fallon had more of a pull on her than gravity. They inched closer together. Eyes closed, lips all but touching when Kirby's better judgement made a reappearance and ripped her from her daze.

"What are we doing?" she asked, standing up from adrenaline.

"I... I thought this was something we both wanted. We were getting along and... and," Fallon's face burned crimson. "We were getting along and you were being playful. I thought-"

"You hate me! You couldn't stand me  _yesterday,_ but suddenly you're ready to make out with me?"

"Look, Kirby-"

"I don't want to hear it!"

Kirby left the room, her heart rate escalating to well above what was healthy. Her breathing quickened and became uneven as she stormed down to her room. Tears of anger and frustration and disappointed brimmed her eyes as she threw open her bedroom door, overwhelmed with the urge to burn everything that suggested she even knew Fallon. The brunette was so good at playing with her head, she should have expected a stunt like this, especially with her drinking. She had always been like this.

Kirby collapsed onto her bed, sobs of unrecognisable emotions wracking her body. Her mind was a jumble of question marks and old memories she'd thought she'd forgotten. Her hands shook with  _something._ She had enjoyed getting along with Fallon. But, it reminded her of the six years they had been together, all the petty fights and late nights and long-haul flights, made her almost  _miss_ them; miss  _Fallon._ It reminded her of how much she had loved Fallon, despite how difficult and inexcusable she was at times.

Loving Fallon was like plunging herself in icy water or putting her hand in the fire; it was like sunny spring days and stormy November evenings. Loving Fallon was like the smell of freshly baked cookies and the taste of salt; beach days or staying in bed all day. Loving Fallon was meticulously spontaneous. Loving Fallon was oxymoronic, and that was exactly why Kirby used to love loving Fallon. Now, she realised why loving her ruined her.

The sound of stilettos on marble floors and pounding on her door pulled Kirby from her pity party.

"Kirby, please let me talk to you!" Fallon pleaded from the other side of the door. She'd had another drink. Five-drink-Fallon was whiny Fallon.

Kirby stood from her bed, tears still treading their course down her face steadily and opened the door to find her ex-girlfriend teetering in her too-tall shoes.

"Just leave me alone. Please," she said, slamming the door, only to slide down it - her legs jelly now that the adrenaline of their argument upstairs had worn off. She let out a low scream of frustration. She regretted coming back to the manor. She regretted ever coming back to Atlanta.


	5. V

Fallon’s embarrassment increased tenfold. She stumbled backwards as she heard Kirby slump to the floor, her head thudding softly against the bedroom door.  _ She _ had done that. She was the reason Kirby was crying on her bedroom floor. The brunette was more than used to it. The redhead spent many a night crying to herself when she first moved to Atlanta, and in the days leading up to her move back to Australia. It wasn’t strange for her to do this. Fallon should have been accustomed to this, yet the other woman’s cries knocked the wind out of her. She wasn’t sure why all air had escaped her lungs, why breathing had become an impossible task - but she didn’t like it.

She shook her head, desperately trying to clear it, her thoughts garbled and nonsensical in her fog machine of a mind. Nothing made sense to her. She didn’t know what had come over her. She shouldn’t have tried to kiss Kirby, nor should she have followed her to her room. This was all a huge mistake.

Fallon should have kept her distance when she had the chance. Now, she couldn’t help but think but feel she was falling in deep again. She should have known the redhead would still be magnetic. Nothing else had changed about her - why would that?

Her legs moved without instruction. She walked outside, frigid air biting at her exposed skin. Her head spun from the alcohol and her mortification. None of this should have had such an effect on her. She didn’t even  _ like _ Kirby. There was  _ nothing _ to like about Kirby. How was the brunette supposed to like someone who had left her for Australia without notice? The redhead had hurt Fallon too much to like her.

The initial buzz of the alcohol was wearing off and a hint of nausea settled in the pit of her stomach. She sat down on a patio chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. All she wanted was for things to go back to normal; back to the way it had been before Kirby had shown up. She had been perfectly content thinking her ex-girlfriend was living in some shitty apartment in Perth where they would never cross paths on accident; she was perfectly content pretending to forget about Kirby. But, of course, the redhead had to make an appearance and ruin her facade.

“You’ll catch your death out here,” a voice said from behind Fallon. Speak of the devil.

She turned around in her chair to see Kirby, wrapped in her dressing down with a cigarette dangling from between two fingers. She was a few metres away, but Fallon could see her mascara was streaked over her temples where she must have wiped her eyes and her skin peeked through as tracks of white through her foundation. The sights made the brunette nauseous, remembering again that she had caused that.

Fallon wanted to ignore her; go back to wallowing and maybe get another drink, but she could never keep a snarky comment to herself.

“That’s bad for you, you know,” she said, nodding her head towards the cigarette which the other woman had raised to her lips.

Kirby rolled her eyes before letting out an exhale of smoke and tapping off the overhang of ash. “Like you care.”

Fallon pursed her lips and turned around in her seat again. She leaned her head back, staring at the dark abyss of the starless sky. She wanted to say something - she hated not having the last word. It was killing her that Kirby’s words had shut her up. She had to say something; anything.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her mouth moving faster than her brain. She couldn’t take it back, so she continued, “for what happened upstairs. That’s why I came to your room.”

She wasn’t fully lying. She wasn’t sure what her intention was in following Kirby to her room, but this felt like it was the right thing to tell her.

“It’s whatever,” the redhead said, taking one last drag from the cigarette before flicking the butt onto the ground and crushing it with her shoe. “It doesn’t matter.”

Fallon looked back at her and their eyes locked for a moment. She felt like it mattered; otherwise, it wouldn’t have elicited such a reaction, and she should state that. But she held her tongue and kept her protests to herself. She supposed it was best to leave Kirby alone. It was clear that was what she wanted.

“Goodnight,” the redhead said, looking around at the garden and sighing.

“Yeah, ‘night.”

“You should really come back inside. It’s getting cold.”

With that, Kirby walked back into the house. Fallon’s eyes followed her; she still walked the same. She hadn't changed at all, and the brunette was a fool to think she ever would.

Kirby’s presence only pulled Fallon back to when they were twenty-one, eating take away in their tiny apartment and trying to finish essays before  _ Game of Thrones  _ started. When they would talk for hours about everything yet nothing at all and have Bowie karaoke sessions at three in the morning until their neighbour banged on their door for them to shut up. All she did was remind her of the few good parts of their relationship, and it was suffocating.

She knew, deep down, their relationship had been dysfunctional at best and she shouldn’t romanticise it. They would fight over everything: how to load the dishwasher, who they were hanging out with, how many mugs they should stack on top of one another, how much she was drinking, where they should store the vacuum. Yet, a tiny part of her longed for it back.

Fallon hated that she felt like this. She  _ shouldn’t  _ feel like this. They broke up a long time ago, and for good reason. She shouldn’t pine. Not anymore.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Kirby still had moments where she regretted their breakup, too. She doubted it. According to her Instagram, she had been more than happy with her five tropical vacations a year with her sisters and a string of other women Fallon didn’t recognise. The redhead hadn’t even posted a black-screen Snapchat story in almost two years (Fallon had gotten Steven to check on multiple occasions).

She stood up from her chair, leaving her empty glass on the table, and walked back into the house. Her fingers stung with the sudden change of temperature. She ignored her family’s Christmas celebrations in the lounge and made a beeline for her bedroom. It was only half past ten, but she was exhausted.

 

* * *

 

 

Fallon loved her job, but the mere thought of having to spend a single second with Liam Ridley made her want to hurl herself into an active volcano. The last time she’d seen him they had sex and she’d snuck out afterwards, and now she was forced to pretend to be his wife to sell her father’s company from under him.

She walked into the office building, dread mounting with every step she took. Her fingers shook from apprehension as she greeted coworkers she’d forgotten the names of and started the five flights of stairs. Tension crept up her spine and settled in her shoulders.

When Fallon got to her floor, she was greeted with a throng of people she didn’t recognise. She let out an irritated breath and attempted to weave through them. She hated new projects; all the small talk. It was hell on earth. She navigated her way to her office. Jeannette appeared behind her a moment later.

Fallon sat down at her desk, already drained. She looked up to see her assistant, holding a garment bag and wearing a scowl.

“The women in business project has been moved up to today. The photographer will be here in twenty minutes. You need to change,” she said, laying the garment bag on the table and making to leave.

“But the cleaner fuel thing is supposed to start today,” Fallon said, flipping through her diary to ensure she hadn’t confused dates. She hadn’t.

“It’s been moved to Monday,” Jeannette said before leaving.

Fallon had a thousand and one questions, one of them being how she, head of public relations, was not aware of the rescheduling. But Jeannette seemed to have a thousand and one things to do, so they were never answered.

She stood from her desk again and picked the bag up, not bothering to look at the outfit until she was in the cramped confines of her bathroom. It was a white blouse and a navy pencil skirt paired with a matching blazer. Fallon scowled. Not only was it in the wrong size, but she had not prepared to wear any of this. She hadn’t shaved her legs that morning or gotten a spray tan. She wasn’t supposed to be on camera until Monday. She put it on anyway and prayed she had a pair of tights stored somewhere in her office.

She didn’t.

Once back at her office, she logged onto her email to see three from Liam. She rolled her eyes and sighed before opening the first one. He would be there, at her office, within the next fifteen minutes instead of their agreed-upon lunch date. He provided no explanation for his change in plans, but there was little she could do about it now.

Fallon opened the second email. Liam was expecting her to still go to the lunch date despite him coming earlier and expected her to listen to him talk about his uncle’s (already discussed) future plans for the company. She’d much rather do virtually anything else. She deleted the third before he could further ruin her already dire mood.

“Hey.” Liam entered with a smile and without invitation. When Fallon’s response was an eye roll, he pouted and crossed his arms. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” pretending to busy herself on the computer. “Why would I be happy to see you?”

“You were happy last time you saw me.”

“I was  _ drunk _ ,” Fallon corrected, “I was  _ not _ happy to see you.”

Liam’s initial response was that condescending grin plastered on his annoyingly symmetrical face. It was annoying her how attractive he was.

“You’re going to have to look happy, wifey. Uncle Max is coming into town and he’s expecting dinner with his nephew and loving wife. Might as well get into character now.”

She wanted to scream. There was no way in hell she’d allow herself to spend a second longer than necessary with the man opposite her. Right then, she wished she’d never agreed to pretend to be his wife again. She couldn’t stand him, and his perfect face, or his aggravatingly familiar family.

She held back a ‘no’ and smiled tightly. “Fine, but if you try to kiss me again I’ll sue you for everything you have.”

“Deal.”

Fallon was sure that would be the end of their exchange, but Liam made no move to exit the room. It worried her he’d taken her threats as playful banter.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“Oh, I have to oversee the shoot,” he said, providing no further explanation.

“No offence or anything, but you’re not a woman, nor are you in business. Why would you have to oversee this?” She asked, the sliver of patience she had left threatening to leave her.

“Max was supposed to be here - it was supposed to be a collaborative thing - but he got caught up in something in New York, so he asked me to stand in for him.”

Fallon was rolling her eyes so much she thought they might fall out of her head. “Okay, that makes perfect sense,” she lied, “now, I have some work to do before we start, so would you mind getting out?”

Liam gave one last obnoxious smile before doing as he was told and leaving.

Fallon leaned back in her chair, watching him through the glass wall of her office as he walked down the corridor and out of sight. She sighed heavily and turned her gaze to her to-do list, which was practically empty.

Just as she thought her day could not get any worse, Kirby Anders walked past her office with her photography gear. She wanted to vomit. There was no way she’d be able to pretend to be civil for a whole day. One of them would implode. She had to put an end to this before it started.

Fallon left her office, speed-walking to catch up with her ex-girlfriend before tapping her on the shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She demanded, standing behind and startling the other woman.

“You hired me?” Kirby tried to counter, but it sounded more like a question.

“I don’t remember approving-” the brunette cut herself off short. She must have approved the decision the night she’d stayed at the office to catch up with work. By the end of the night, she barely knew of where she was, never mind what she was doing. She paused to recover herself. “ _ I  _ didn’t hire you, my assistant did. And she likes to get on my nerves.”

“Whatever. Now, can you leave me alone so I can get set up?” the redhead said, clearly not in the mood to be there, either.

Fallon huffed as the other woman walked away. They would start within the next ten minutes and she had to calm herself down before the participants from other departments arrived. She had a reputation of utmost professionalism she had to uphold, and she refused to let Liam or Kirby ruin it for her.

The shoot started promptly. Fallon and the seven other women were shoved into a boardroom where the desk and chairs had been removed and replaced with a white backdrop. She instantly regretted letting Jeannette take the reins on this one.

Kirby came in a moment later with an iced coffee and told them to get into position. Fallon had forgotten how mediocre her ex-girlfriend was at giving instructions.

“Fallon, could you move to the side a little? You’re way too tall in those shoes,” the redhead said, standing up straight again and squinting at her shot.

“That sounds more like a you problem than a me problem,” Fallon said, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them, This earned her a harsh glare from the photographer. They stared at one another for a full ten seconds before she moved to the side.

“Yeah, great, thanks. Actually, another two inches to the left and you’ll be perfect.”

Fallon scowled as she sandwiched herself between Debra from marketing and Nancy from acquisitions. This was  _ her  _ shoot, yet somehow her ex-girlfriend had weaselled her way into it and was ruining everything.

“Wait… now, can you stop pouting? You’re ruining the shot with your huffing. Yes,  _ smile.  _ Thank you  _ so  _ much for your cooperation.”

It was the worst shoot Kirby had ever done. Kirby only had adjustments for her, even though Deidre from the board was slouching for most of the shoot. It was humiliating to be singled out and criticised in front of her colleagues and people below her in the company. Her ex-girlfriend was beyond unprofessional and the brunette’s blood was boiling.

She stormed from the boardroom and down the corridor to her office. She missed the solid walls of her old office. There, she could freely break down without being on display for the rest of the floor to see. Now, she had to take her frustration out on her keyboard and a blank Word Document.

 

* * *

  

Fallon’s fingers tapped restlessly against her desk. She needed coffee - or a bottle of vodka. She watched the others from the shoot walk past, having pleasant conversations and taking sideways glances at her as they went. She was so fixated on her colleagues’ calm demeanour the knock on the door startled her.

Liam stood on the other side of the door with two takeaway cartons. She guessed now was their lunch date. She sighed and waved for him to come in.

“Does that photographer have something against you?” he asked, setting the food on the desk. Fallon raised an eyebrow and eyed it suspiciously. He laughed. “It’s salad from the cafeteria. I didn’t have time to get you something better.”

“It’s okay.”

There was a short period of silence. Fallon kept her gaze on everything but Liam and avoided the eye contact he was desperate to make like the plague. This was a bad idea.

“What is it you want to talk about?” She asked after a few moments, still staring at her pen pot instead of at him.

“My mom doesn’t believe we’re really married,” he said. He sounded irritated, like it was something he’d talked about at length with his shrew of a mother.

“So?” she asked, pushing her salad around its styrofoam container.

“She's going to tell Uncle Max we broke up or something and the deal won’t go through.”

Fallon dropped her fork. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes, she will. She doesn’t like you and hates Max-

Their meeting was cut short by a knock on the office door. Kirby was at the other side with two to-go cups, as well as her own juice. Even after all these years, she knew how to do damage control. Fallon looked between the woman at the door and Liam, debating what to do.

“It’s all right. I’ll go. It was nice seeing you,” he said, standing and leaving the room. She didn’t reply.

“Your assistant asked me to show you the pictures before I leave,” Kirby said, her voice quiet and flat. She set the cups on the table and sat down on the couch opposite the desk. “Those are for you, by the way. Your assistant also asked me to give them to you.”

The brunette could tell the other woman felt somewhat guilty about the way the shoot had gone. She was refusing to make eye contact and her leg bounced up and down as she got her laptop and camera out of her bag. She was thinking of an excuse for her behaviour.

“Okay, no problem. Just make it quick. I have an appointment,” Fallon said dismissively. She didn’t have an appointment, but she couldn’t bear to stay in the same room as the other longer than needed.

The redhead nodded and showed the pictures to the other woman. They were well-taken, but someone was blinking or making an odd face or moving in most of them. There were very few decent ones to choose from.

“These are awful,” Kirby said as she got to the last one. She let out a defeated laugh and put her head in her hands. “There is no way I’ll be able to do that again.”

“Why, was bossing me around getting tiring?” Fallon asked, turning to look at the other woman.

“I was hoping the others would catch on they were all frowning and doubled over if I told you to fix yourself.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know any of their names and I thought it would be rude to point and call on them based on their clothes or haircut,” Kirby reasoned with an innocent smile.

“So you bullied me instead?”

“God, you’re so dramatic. I wasn’t bullying you, I was redirecting your workmates via you. There’s a difference.”

Fallon chose to ignore that last comment. “Some of them are okay. And, trust me, you’re not going to have to redo it. Just edit it to make them look like they want to be here. That couldn’t be that hard.”

She lifted one of the coffees and took a sip, preparing herself for anything other than her order. Jeannette had a habit of getting it wrong. To her surprise, it was perfect. Black coffee with one-and-a-half sugars.

“Did you get this?” She asked the other woman, who was tidying up her things.

“How did you know?”

“It’s right. It’s never right.”

“Your assistant asked me to get you coffee when I went to get mine,” Kirby shrugged.

Fallon looked at the time on the bottom corner of her computer screen. It was ten after three. She had to stay for another two hours, but she had nothing to do.  _ Great _ .

The redhead moved to leave, and the brunette saw her open the Uber app. Maybe this was an excuse to leave early.

“Are you still staying at the manor or are you going home?” She asked.

“Your place. The power is still out at mine,” Kirby replied, stopping just short of the door and turning around. “Why?”

“Do you want a ride?” Fallon asked. “You know, so you don’t have to get a cab or something.”

“I thought you had an appointment.”

“Oh, it’s been rescheduled. I’m just going home now. Do you want a ride?”

“Not a chance,” Kirby responded. “I’d like to make it home alive.”

“I’m a good driver!” The brunette defended herself, almost offended.

The redhead stared at her in disbelief for a moment. “You used to make me close my eyes when you parallel parked.”

“Parking and driving are  _ very  _ different, and you know it!”

“Were you parking when you almost drove into that wall in Savannah?” The redhead asked as the pair left the office and walked to the lift.

“We agreed never to talk about Savannah,” Fallon snapped as they got into the elevator.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re so dramatic. You weren’t going to die. At worst, you would have fractured your skull.”

“That makes me feel so much better, thank you so much.”

“Am I giving you a ride or not?” The brunette asked a final time, leaving the lift and then the building. It was starting to rain.

Kirby hesitated and looked up. “Fine, but if we crash you’re covering my medical bills.”

They walked to Fallon’s car in silence. She sighed as the other woman put her bags in the boot. Despite the passive-aggressive undertones of their banter, it was nice to talk to someone while at work without them wanting something from her. It was uncomfortable, the way she was small-talking with her ex-girlfriend, but they knew each other well enough they could dance the line on discomfort.

“Ready to go?” She asked as Kirby got in and put her seatbelt on. The redhead nodded politely, and they exited the parking garage. Fallon felt a familiar pull in the pit of her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I feel like I say this at the start of every chapter, but I'm sorry this took so long! But, my exams are finally over so I'm now able to focus on this more!
> 
> I'd like to thank Amanda for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Happy reading!


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I would just like to thank Amanda for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Happy reading!

Save for the occasional comments about how heavy the rain had gotten, the first half of their drive home was silent. It was the same excruciating silence they shared in the lead up to their break up. Kirby had hoped to never experience it again, but should have known she would the second she bumped into Fallon again. Their silence was inevitable.

The brunette seemed to be equally if not more uncomfortable than Kirby. The redhead could see her mental battle between her disdain for silence and hatred for small talk on her face. Her jaw was set, grinding her teeth slightly as she stared forward, unblinking.

“How are Darcy and Rorey?” She asked once they reached a red light. Her well-manicured fingers tapped against the steering wheel as she looked at her ex-girlfriend expectantly. Small talk had won.

“Rorey had a baby,” Kirby said, discomfort more evident in her voice than she had anticipated at the mention of her sisters.

“What?”

“Yeah. She had a boy in April. His name is Benjamin.”

“I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I. She didn’t tell anyone until she went into labour because she thought she wouldn’t get in trouble with her dad that way.”

“Teenagers are dumb,” Fallon mused as the light turned green. 

There was that silence again. Fallon’s words seemed to have struck a chord in both of them that left them unable to speak. The redhead turned on her phone to see three missed calls from Lilah. She sighed heavily. Their landlord had probably moved to fucking Mars or something.

“What’s he like?” The brunette asked after a few moments, her eyes moving from the road to the other woman for a split second.

“What?”

“Benjamin… what’s he like?”

“Oh. I haven’t met him yet, but he’s the cutest. He’s a double of Rorey,” Kirby spluttered, her cheeks burning red. 

“You haven’t met him yet?”

“They live in Auckland with my grandma, and he was born a week after I moved here. We haven’t been able to arrange anything yet.”

Fallon nodded in understanding, but didn’t say anything. Kirby kept her focus on her for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. A familiar but almost forgotten fluttering in her stomach ripped her gaze from the other woman to a raindrop racing its way down the window. Her heart rate picked up as her mind reeled to figure out  _ why  _ Fallon Carrington was giving her butterflies - especially now. They were discussing her seventeen-year-old sister’s poor decisions, yet her long-dead feelings for the other woman had decided to make a reappearance for the fun of it.

She couldn’t catch feelings again. She wouldn’t allow it.

“Everything okay?” Fallon asked, an eyebrow raised, but her eyes glued to the road.

“Yeah, totally fine. Why?” Kirby replied, slightly breathless from her internal freak-out.

“You’re wigging out. Like  _ Glee  _ ending level wig-out.”

“It’s just,” the redhead paused to come up with an excuse, then remembered the missed calls from Lilah. “My roommate has been trying to call me and it’s probably more bad news about the apartment. Our landlord has a habit of avoiding problems until he’s legally challenged.”

“So I’ll be stuck with you for longer?”

“More than likely.”

Fallon looked at Kirby for barely a second. The brunette laughed to herself for a moment before speaking.

“Do you still feel like your life is in danger?”

“Not right now,” Kirby replied, her concentration still on the rain on the window. “I will when we get to that windy road before Buckhead. You’ve almost crashed there eleven times.”

“That’s not true,” Fallon said, rolling her eyes.

“I had a tally on my phone.”

“You have a tally of how many times I’ve almost crashed my car?”

“Yeah. That’s just for that road. The total is like fifty or something.”

Kirby looked to Fallon, expecting to see a frown, but the brunette was badly suppressing a grin.

“You’re a dork.”

“So I’ve been told,” the redhead responded with a small laugh.

Kirby almost cringed at how polar their interactions were. One minute they were acting as though they had only met and knew so little about one another that they were unable to maintain a conversation, and the next it was just like it was three years ago. They couldn’t find a balance. Even though they knew almost everything about each other, they couldn’t figure out one another’s boundaries.

Another silence fell over them. Fallon drummed her fingers on the steering wheel again and shifted in her seat, practically leaning against her car door.

Kirby leaned back in her seat as they merged onto  _ that  _ road. Fallon didn’t almost crash, not even once. At one point, the silence got so suffocating the redhead found herself wishing she had.

Relief flooded over Kirby as she exited the car, as did the rain bucketing down from above. She collected her things from the back of the car and sprinted into the house, holding her laptop bag above her head to protect her freshly washed hair. Fallon came in hot on her heels. She looked as though she was having a crisis at the sight of her damp jacket and puddle-soaked shoes. The redhead would have been upset, too; the outfit could have cost more than anything she ever owned.

“You okay?” Kirby asked, taking a step towards the other woman. Her middle finger tapped against her thumb, releasing some of the nervous tension that had replaced the butterflies in her stomach.

“Just peachy!” Fallon said, her voice strangled. 

“Do you need help or-”

“I’m fine!” The brunette snapped, already walking upstairs.

Kirby opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came. She watched Fallon as she got to the top of the stairs and disappeared from sight. It was likely they wouldn’t see each other until dinner the next night - the way it was supposed to be. 

She walked into her room and put her photography gear away before picking up Henry, who had been lying on the floor at her feet, and gracelessly fell back onto her bed. Her head ached from the odd overhead lighting in the offices, and her body begged for her to take a nap despite the four cups of coffee she’d had that morning to wake herself up.

Working with Fallon had been a lot less of a nightmare than Kirby had anticipated. She had expected the brunette to yell and make ridiculous demands, but she kept relatively quiet during the shoot. It was seemingly something to do with the man standing in the corner of the room ogling her the entire time. He must have been some higher-up that Kirby didn’t recognise.

A thud took Kirby from her thoughts. Henry had attempted to jump from the bed to the vanity, but missed and landed on the floor unceremoniously. She sat up to scold him, but made eye contact with her high school self in one of the three photographs taped to her vanity mirror.

She was with one of her friends, probably drunk off wine coolers. They were bleary-eyed and smiling like idiots, Fallon and their other friends in the background in the same state. Kirby was almost sure it was the night they graduated college - or maybe it was her birthday that year. The memories from that summer were blurred together in a haze of drunkenness and sunstroke.

The photo next to it was of her and Fallon at the last football game of their senior year of high school, wearing fake varsity jackets and Ugg Boots despite the thirty-degree weather. They were holding hands, and Kirby’s head rested Fallon’s shoulder as they sat on the bleachers. If the redhead’s memory served her correctly, they would have been together for six months when the photo was taken. It baffled the redhead how no one had noticed they were dating.

Their drastically different appearances caught her off guard. Kirby’s hair was dyed such a dark brown it almost looked black, her skin was tinged orange with badly applied self-tanner, and her peace sign displayed her chipped black nail polish. Fallon’s hair was so blonde it was almost white and she still had braces. The redhead now realised why they hadn’t recognised one another that night in the bar. 

Kirby’s stomach flipped at the sight of them, so dizzily giddy in each other’s presence. It felt wrong their relationship had gone from that to barely able to look at one another, even if it had taken years. The thought of the start of their relationship and the stark contrast between then and the end of it made a lump form in her throat. The night the photo was taken, they promised they’d stay together forever. Their forever lasted just short of six years and ended abruptly in a cheap hotel room in Perth. There was a pang in her chest at the memory.

The last photo was taken the night Kirby came out to Fallon. They were stood outside a cinema, posing dramatically. They were no older than sixteen. The memory was a punch to the gut and made the redhead’s heart race. The picture was taken before she came out, and she could still feel the nerves almost ten years later.

Kirby came out to Fallon during a matinee screening of  _ Twilight: New Moon  _ in a cinema bathroom while their friends threw popcorn at other movie-goers. It was long-winded and she rambled for almost ten minutes before the then-blonde got the memo and outright asked if she was coming out. Kirby wasn’t sure if she ever explicitly said she was gay, but Fallon never asked her to specify. She was more than empathetic, cried with her in the stall and hugged her until their ribs hurt. At the time, Kirby thought it was because they were best friends - it was what she was supposed to do. Little did she know.

The redhead stared at the photo, the pang developing to a dull ache in her chest as she did. She didn’t miss it, her relationship with Fallon - not anymore. She’d talked herself out of that long ago. But the photographs made her question her act of indifference.

* * *

 

 

Kirby opened the coffee shop door, bringing a flurry of icy wind and drizzle with her. She shook out her hair and scanned the room for Lilah. Her eyes met her roommate in the back corner, gaze fixed on her phone. The redhead straightened her posture and made her way across the dark wood floor, pushing her grievances with Fallon to the back of her head where they could annoy her later.

“Hi.” She let out in a breath, the corners of her lips curving upwards in a ghost of a smile. She settled herself in the chair opposite Lilah and let her bag fall to the floor.

“Hey,” Lilah said with a bright smile. There was a short pause. Eye contact lasted no longer than a fleeting moment, and the conversation died before it started. 

“We should maybe order,” the redhead said after a few minutes, breaking the unbearable silence. They’d met up for coffee and they weren’t drinking coffee. Instead, they sat, wordless and staring.

“Yeah, we should,” Lilah agreed with a nod of her head. Kirby ordered her drink - a complicated frappuccino with oat milk and three different flavour pumps. Fallon used to tease her for it, and she expected her roommate to do the same. Lilah didn’t.

“Ian’s getting someone to come fix the heating and power on the third,” she said once they sat down again. 

Kirby let out a relieved laugh. “Thank god! When I saw your missed calls I thought he’d fled the country or something!”

“I’m pretty sure he was going to until my dad called him. He’s giving us this month’s rent free because of all the hassle he caused.”

The comment reminded the redhead of Fallon. It shouldn’t have; Fallon and Lilah were such polar opposites it would be disrespectful to compare them. A smile pulled on Kirby’s lips as she remembered all the trouble the brunette had gotten out of just by mentioning her father’s name.

“What’s so funny?” The other woman asked, her acrylics tapping against the table.

“Nothing. You just sounded like Fallon when you said that.”

“So, what’s it been like living with Trust Fund?” Lilah asked, polishing off the last dregs of her pumpkin spice latte. The redhead hadn’t touched her drink.

“It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. She’s been nice enough to me.” Kirby paused to decide if telling her roommate about Christmas would be a good idea. “She tried to kiss me, though. That was weird.”

“But you didn’t kiss?”

Kirby shook her head.

“Good.”

The redhead stared at the other woman for a few moments, still ignoring her drink. “Why is that a good thing?”

“Do you remember the morning after she stayed at ours? You were so mopey and in such a gross mood. You’re never like that. She turns you into some angsty teenager, and that cannot be healthy,” Lilah said. “She’s not good for you, Kirb.”

“You say that like you know her.”

“Are you saying she  _ is  _ good for you?”

Kirby didn’t answer - she didn’t know how. Fallon wasn’t good for her, and she wasn’t good for Fallon. They were like chalk and cheese; they had nothing in common and they could agree on nothing. She wanted to argue with her roommate about how she didn’t know anything about their god awful relationship, but she was right, and the look on Lilah’s face made Kirby want to swallow the rebuttal on her tongue and make a vague comment about how nothing was going to happen anyway.

“She’s not  _ bad  _ for me,” she said, hating how indecisive she sounded.

“Then why didn’t you want to kiss her?” Lilah asked. It wasn’t any of her business, and Kirby didn’t have to answer her, but her roommate was only trying to help - at least, that’s what the redhead hoped.

“She wasn’t bad for me  _ then. _ It’s been three years. I don’t feel the same way about her as I used to,” Kirby said, trying to convince herself more than Lilah as the butterflies from earlier still played on her mind. “It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“So you’re not getting back together?”

“Isn’t she dating that one politician’s son?” Kirby asked, mirroring Lilah’s words from the morning after Fallon stayed over. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“I just need to know if any billionaire heiresses will be traipsing around our apartment after we move back in.”

Kirby had a feeling Lilah was jealous. Her voice rose an octave as she spoke and her Louboutin knock-offs tapped against the dirty wooden floor. If she was, she had little reason to be. Their so-called short-lived relationship hadn’t surpassed PG-13 sexting in months, and the redhead was almost certain her roommate had a boyfriend. It would be more than hypocritical for her the other woman to be possessive.

“There won’t be. You don’t have to worry about that, she hasn’t shown much interest in me since she tried to kiss me.”

Kirby didn’t let on that the almost-kiss was only four days ago and that they had been bantering like old friends the day before. It would have been counterproductive.

“Are you sure about that? I don’t know much about this Fallon girl, but most people don’t try to kiss their ex after four years then suddenly lose interest.”

“Like you said, you don’t know Fallon. Nothing is going to happen.”

There was silence. It was colder than the last; more unpleasant than just uncomfortable. Kirby diverted her gaze from the woman opposite her to her fingers, which were fiddling on the tabletop. She crossed one leg over the other and blinked hard, begging her roommate to say something, anything. She couldn’t stand any more silence.

Lilah’s phone saved them. It was something to do with work. Kirby didn’t ask.

The redhead stayed a moment longer than the other woman, drinking her untouched coffee and people watching. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as it dawned on her that she had just lied to Lilah. Kirby put her head in her hands, beyond frustrated with herself, and with Fallon. She didn’t know what she was feeling, or why she was just realising it now. If she did like Fallon, why hadn’t let her kiss her? Why did she push her away and yell at her like it was the last thing she wanted to do?

She let out a groan of frustration and stood up to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder and making towards the exit. There, she collided with someone. Thank god they were both empty-handed; Kirby could not bear the embarrassment of spilling coffee over herself and someone else after the day she’d had.

“Kirby?”

“Monica!”

“I didn’t know you were back in Atlanta! How are you?”

Kirby hadn’t seen Monica Colby since the night before she’d left for Australia. She’d come over to console Fallon after the redhead had announced she was moving and the three of them had gotten into a huge argument. She wasn’t sure if seeing her ex’s best friend was as exciting as the other woman was making it out to be.

“I’m good, I’m good. I’ve been here since April. It’s so good to see you!” Kirby said with a tight smile. She wasn’t sure how to act, but Monica leaned in for a hug. She must have either forgotten about the incident, or she was choosing to ignore its existence.

“You too! Hey, Jeff and I are having a New Year’s party. I know it’s a little last minute, but you should come!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You can bring whoever. See you Monday night?”

“Sure, yeah. Where is it?”

“Club Colby, downtown.”

They exchanged brief goodbyes and Kirby left the coffee shop, the freezing wind hitting her like a ton of bricks.

 

* * *

 

Kirby walked through the front door of the manor, eyes and nose streaming from the cold despite having only walked ten metres from her Uber. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and continued into the lounge, expecting only to pass through to get to her bedroom. Instead, she found Steven and Sam sitting on the sofa watching a movie. She tried to slink past to her room to cuddle with her cat and watch Netflix, but Sam stopped her.

“You should stay.”

“No, I need to go defrost and my dad will go mad if I get the cushions wet,” she replied, gesturing to her sodden attire. She took another step towards the other end of the room. “And I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Steven insisted, pausing whatever they were watching. “Come sit.”

Kirby stood there for another few seconds, then sat down on the armchair closest to her. She fixed her gaze on them, waiting for Steven to resume the movie. He didn’t.

“Is it weird being back?” He asked.

She pursed her lips. She was sick of answering that question. “A little. I mean, this was home for so long. I feel really nostalgic, like all the time.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Sitting there made her feel like she was fifteen years old again, watching dumb reality shows with Fallon and sometimes Steven. She felt the same reminiscent pull at her heartstrings as the night she came back the week before. 

Sam and Steven talked about changing the film, the one they were watching was boring. Kirby couldn’t hear them; the blood rushing in her ears drowned out their voices.

“Is Fallon home?” She asked, interrupting their conversation. She needed to talk to her; she wasn’t sure  _ why  _ she needed to talk to the brunette, but she had an overwhelming urge to be in her presence. That couldn’t end well.

“She’s in her room,” Steven said, turning the TV off altogether and sitting forward slightly. “She hasn’t really come out since yesterday.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. She’s been in such a weird mood lately. I think she’s just stressed because of work and Mom leaving again…”

Kirby didn’t hear the rest of Steven’s spiel about his sister’s odd demeanour. She almost choked on her breath as she processed his words. While Fallon had heavily implied Alexis had pulled another disappearing act, she had never said it outright. The redhead was more than surprised that he could say it so casually like that. 

“Steven, can I talk to you?” Fallon’s voice came from the foyer, followed by the loud clacking of her shoes. She walked into the room to see Sam and Kirby there with her brother and a small frown appeared on her face. “Never mind.”

“No, what’s wrong?” Steven asked, standing from the couch.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll talk to you later.” She made to leave the room, but he grabbed her wrist.

“We’re watching a movie if you want to join us.”

Fallon hesitated, standing up straight again and letting her gaze fall upon Kirby. The mere sight of the redhead made her decision for her. “No, thank you.” With that, she left. 

Kirby stood up to leave, too, more than uncomfortable with the situation. She considered following the other woman, her desire to speak with her somewhat quelled, but still there. She decided against it, going to the kitchen instead, all the while ignoring Sam’s questions as to why she was leaving. 

She stood there for a few seconds, swallowing her nerves and leaning against the centre island. Her mind was warring against itself at the thought of paying her ex-girlfriend a visit. She didn’t even know what she wanted to talk to her about, she just wanted to see her. 

She didn’t want to talk to Fallon about  _ anything,  _ she just wanted to  _ talk _ to her - to hear her voice. Their conversation the day before; their first real, sober conversation in three years, as well as the photos stuck to her mirror, only reminded Kirby of how much she missed the brunette. Not in a particularly romantic way, she just missed having Fallon  _ there.  _

She knew talking to the other woman was a terrible idea, and it would get her hurt. But, frankly, she didn’t care. She just wanted to see Fallon.

Kirby swallowed hard as she finally raised her hand and knocked on Fallon’s bedroom door. It felt as though her heart had stopped as she waited for the brunette to open the door.

“What are you doing up here?” Fallon asked, taking a step back to allow the redhead into the room. Kirby hadn’t expected that.

Fallon’s room had been renovated since she had last seen it. The walls were no longer painted lavender and the abstract paintings the brunette had bought to annoy Blake had been replaced with art more expensive than Kirby’s annual rent. There were different drapes and even the floorboards had changed, yet it still screamed Fallon to her. The meticulous spotlessness, the artful display of overpriced perfumes she wore once before reverting back to Chanel No. 5 because her grandmother wore it. It was different, but Kirby, even in her adrenaline-fueled state, was taken aback by how similar it was.

She panicked, forgetting the speech she’d written in her head on her way up the stairs. She joined her hands in front of herself, stalling to let herself think of something to say.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she replied after almost thirty seconds of unbearable embarrassment.

“What?”

“I didn’t apologise for being shitty yesterday during the shoot, so I wanted to do it now. I’m sorry for being mean to you in front of all your colleagues.”

“It’s fine. I’d almost forgotten about it, anyway. Thanks, though,” Fallon said, her brows knitted together in mild bewilderment.

They stood just inside the room, the door still open. They stared at one another, light eyes boring into dark ones. Kirby knew she should leave, but her heart was racing and it seemed as though she was rooted to the spot. They were less than a foot away from one another, Fallon looked up at her,  painted bottom lip between her teeth.

“I should probably go,” the redhead said, inhaling sharply as she took a shaky backwards.

“You don-” the brunette started, but caught herself quickly, “yeah. Goodnight, Kirb.”

“‘Night, Fallon.”

 


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> As always, I'd like to thank Amanda for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Happy reading!

Fallon walked inside Club Colby with Liam on her arm. She smiled, pretending to enjoy her fake husband’s presence as cameras flashed behind them. She would have much preferred to have come on her own, but Blake insisted it would be better for publicity if they went together.

It was already too loud, techno songs pounding from the overhead speakers, and there were far too many people. Combined with the pulsing coloured lights, Fallon could already feel a migraine coming on.

She broke free from Liam’s grasp once inside, but ensured he followed her to the table at which her friends were sitting. Monica and Genevieve sat at one end of the booth, watching an already tipsy Martha fawn over her man of the month.

They stopped their conversation at the couple’s arrival, and looked at them intently, awaiting an introduction.

“Who’s this?” Martha asked, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

“This is my… husband, Liam. Liam, this is Martha and Genevieve. You know Monica,” Fallon said, gesturing to each of her friends before sitting down.

He smiled as a greeting, but didn’t say anything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, watching the others converse. His eyes lingered on Genevieve every so often, staring at her as she told them about her Christmas in the Alps with her fiance. Fallon thought she should have reprimanded him in some way. To the others, it looked as though she was allowing her husband to ogle at someone. She ended up staring at her friend, too; admiring how blonde her hair was and the faux freckles dotted along her cheekbones. She couldn’t blame him. She had always had the tiniest little crush in Genevieve, even if she did have the personality of a high school movie antagonist. She smacked him on the arm nonetheless.

“What was  _ that _ for?” He hissed under his breath, massaging where she had hit him.

“Can you at least  _ pretend _ you’re interested in me? Stop staring at her,” Fallon said back,  rolling her eyes as his face burned fuschia. Tristan, Martha’s apparent boyfriend, laughed at this until his girlfriend jabbed him with her elbow.

“ _ So, _ Liam, what do you do?” Martha asked after a few moments in agonising silence. 

“I’m a journalist,” Liam replied, crossing his arms again.

“And where are you from?”

“New York.”

Martha continued with her interrogation, and Fallon tuned out their conversation; Kirby had just arrived with Sam and Steven, and that was all she could focus on. The redhead was wearing the same black dress she’d worn the night they met in the bar, with white tennis shoes. The brunette let out a breath before returning her gaze to the others at her table

“Leave him alone, Martha,” Genevieve said, standing up. “Does anyone want a drink?”

Each of them placed their order, and Martha and Tristan got up to dance.

“Is that Kirby?” Genevieve asked, her words beginning to slur together as she sat down. It looked like she’d had a few shots at the bar. 

Fallon couldn’t see much from where she was sitting, but the blonde had most likely spotted Kirby dancing with Steven and Sam to  _ The Cha Cha Slide. _

“Yeah,” Monica said with a shrug. “I saw her at Starbucks the other day, and I invited her. You know, for old times’ sake.”

“Do you remember those ‘old times’?” Genevieve asked, raising an eyebrow. She had never been a fan of the redhead, but her sudden departure, and Fallon’s unwillingness to talk about it, had only added to her dislike of her.

“Come  _ on.  _ She’s really not that bad.”

“She left!”

“She must have left for a reason!”

Fallon wasn’t listening. Her gaze was still fixed on her ex-girlfriend laughing and dancing to the terrible music while the brunette sat there with her whiny friends.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said, taking a sip from her almost empty glass, swirling the remnants with her cocktail stirrer as she did. “She was at the bar when we went out for Martha’s birthday and that didn’t seem to be an issue.”

“You know that’s different, Fall,” the blonde said, waving her hand dismissively. She laid her head on Monica’s shoulder and closed her grey eyes, displaying the mascara smudged under her eyebrow.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fall asleep,” Monica said, nudging the woman next to her.

“Just resting my eyes.”

“It’s only eleven and you’re already blacking out.”

Fallon turned to Liam, who had been obediently sitting next to him since they arrived. He hadn’t spoken since Martha had interrogated him earlier. He stared into the crowd of dancing bodies, clearly wanting to join them. She wanted nothing less. After a second, he looked back at her and smiled. She wanted to tell him to go dance without her, but he would have found some girl to dance with, and that would be bad for their image. She wished she cared less.

She spotted Kirby leaving through the front doors, rummaging through her bag as she went. Fallon turned from him again and grabbed Genevieve by the wrist. “Come on, I’ll take you outside. Maybe some fresh air will sober you up.”

She weaved through the party, her legs becoming shaky as she dragged her friend behind her. She pushed the door open and a rush of cold air hit them as they stepped outside. The blonde yelped, trying to pull her dress further over her legs.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” she said, rubbing her hands up her arms. Fallon nodded in agreement, walking around the side of the building to try to find Kirby. Genevieve leant against the wall, the cold sobering her up quickly. The brunette stood next to the other woman, her eyes still scanning their surroundings for her ex-girlfriend, who was nowhere. She took a deep breath to subdue the nausea presumably caused by the unfamiliar cocktails the bartender kept putting in front of her. While the temperature had sobered Genevieve up, it had only served Fallon to realise just how drunk she was.

“You good?” Genevieve asked, walking over to her. She placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do you need me to go get Liam?”

Fallon couldn’t stop the disgusted expression from appearing on her face in her more-than-tipsy state. She shook her head, her eyes on the ground. “No. I’m fine. I just need some water.”

The blonde didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t express any protests. She nodded her head and took her hands away from the other woman. “Do you want to go back inside or do you want me to bring the water out to you?”

Genevieve Meadows was far from a generous or compassionate person, so her offer caught the brunette off-guard. Fallon stared at the other woman for a few seconds before opening her mouth to speak.

“No, I’ll come inside.”

She returned to her table, where Liam and Monica hadn’t moved from and Martha and Tristan had come back to. Fallon sat down next to Liam while Genevieve went to the bar to get her water and most likely ask the bartender to start giving her virgin cocktails if Monica hadn’t done so already. It was what they always did at this point in the night.

“Did you find Kirby?” Monica asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What?” Fallon responded after a few moments, air failing to get to her lungs.

“I wasn’t looking for Kirby. We went outside because Gen needed some fresh air,” Fallon said, her face heating up. She looked from her best friend to her shaking fingers in her lap.

“ _ Sure _ ,” Martha said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asked, speaking for the first time in an hour.

“Fallon hasn’t spoken to Kirby in like five years, and suddenly she’s following her outside. It’s weird.”

Genevieve came back to the table and nestled herself beside Monica again. “What are we talking about?”

“Martha thinks Fallon’s sneaking off with Kirby again,” Monica said.

“She has a point.”

“ _ What? _ I’m not sneaking off with anyone!” Fallon choked out, embarrassment swelling in her chest.

“You think we didn’t notice you running off with her on my birthday?” Martha asked, scooting herself closer to Fallon, “and all the times in college when you would just disappear?”

Fallon opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She stood up from the table and stormed away, Liam calling after her.

The bathroom was empty, which was surprising. She stood at the sink, leaning on it for support. She was mortified and too drunk to deal with those feelings. Tears pricked up in her eyes and she slammed her hand against the counter. She looked down at it, pain radiating into her fingers, and frowned at the ring on her wedding finger. Fallon took it off and set it in the small gap between the sink and the wall.

“Are you okay?” 

A voice came from behind her. She whipped around to see Kirby standing at the door. She blinked back the tears and swallowed hard.

“Perfectly fine.”

The redhead hummed in response, coming to stand next to her. She took a tube of lipgloss from her bag and applied it, smacking her lips together before returning her gaze to the brunette.

“Who’s that guy you’re with? I saw him at the shoot, but I thought he was an exec or something.”

“That’s Liam,” Fallon sighed, staring at the ring on the counter. “He’s… he’s a friend.”

“You can tell me if he’s more than that. I won’t get upset or anything.”

“Nope. There’s nothing between us.”

The brunette felt bad lying to Kirby. Their relationship was far from perfect, but they were civil with one another again, and there was something familiar about their interaction that caused goose pimples to prickle up Fallon’s arms.

The redhead didn’t believe her, it was clear on her face; that look of disappointment her ex-girlfriend knew so well. She didn’t say anything on the matter and continued there conversation.

“Is there a reason you’re just standing there?”

“I’m too drunk to deal with Marth and Genevieve.”

“You’re still friends with them? Last I remember, you hated Martha, and Genevieve was moving to Paris to pursue fashion.”

“I still hate Martha, and I don’t particularly like Genevieve either now, but Monica likes them, so I put up with them. Genevieve still lives in Paris, but comes home from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. But, yeah. I’m still friends with them.”

They stood there, focusing on one another’s reflection in the mirror wordlessly until a woman came in and threw them a confused look.

“Want to go for a walk?” Kirby asked, placing her hand on the counter next to Fallon’s. “It’s getting way too hot and Sam’s dancing is embarrassing.”

The brunette looked away, her attention turning to their hands. Their pinky fingers were overlapped on the counter. She knew it would be enormously hypocritical to tell her friends she wasn’t sneaking around with Kirby, then leave with her. She wished she cared less about what they thought of her.

Against her better judgement, she agreed, and was soon back outside in the freezing air. They walked down the otherwise deserted street, Fallon’s rationale screaming at her to suck it up and go back to her friends. She was aware this could end terribly, but, at this point, it was her best option.

Since her return to the brunette’s life, Kirby’s presence had confused Fallon. She thought she had to hate her, but she could never bring herself to. Fallon hated a lot of things about Kirby; her clothes, her cat, and her compulsive need to be liked, to name a few, but she could never hate the redhead herself.

Their hands brushed as they walked, and a current of electricity travelled up Fallon’s arm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked to the other woman who seemed totally unfazed. The brunette swallowed hard before opening her mouth to speak.

“How long are you planning for this walk to be? As nice as it is to get away from Martha and her man-slut of the month, it’s almost midnight and I don’t want to miss the countdown.”

Kirby laughed. “It’s only eleven-forty-five; we’ll be back for it, don’t worry. I just needed to get away from everything for a minute.”

Fallon nodded, rubbing her arms to create heat through friction. They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound their shoes against the pavement, until they got to the end of the block and stopped. Fallon looked around at their surroundings - they were four blocks from the club.

“Come sit,” Kirby said, pulling the brunette by the wrist to a bench ten metres away.

“You said you wanted to go on a walk.”

“I meant I wanted to get some fresh air.”

They sat down, shoulder to shoulder. Fallon told herself it was to conserve heat, but she knew better.

“I don’t think you remember this, but we kissed for the first time nine years ago at midnight,” Kirby said, taking the brunette’s hand in her own and placing it in her lap.

“I do,” Fallon said, pushing the redhead’s hair behind her ear. “We were at a house party, and we were both really drunk. We promised not to tell anyone.”

“You never mentioned it again, I thought you’d forgotten.”

“How could I forget? It was the best thing that ever happened to sixteen-year-old me. I never mentioned it because you never did. I thought  _ you  _ forgot.”

Kirby laughed and shook her head. She pulled her phone from her bag, looked at it and frowned. “We’ve got two minutes to get back to the club. Unless we run, I don’t think we’ll make it.”

“Set an alarm. We can celebrate here,” Fallon said, a devious smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Are you sure? You said you wanted to-”

The brunette cut her off.

“I want to stay here. With you.”

Kirby did as she was told, and set an alarm for twelve o’clock. They sat there in silence as they waited, hands intertwined and Fallon’s head on the redhead’s shoulder. Everything felt alright again.

They heard the countdown from the bar closest to them, and the brunette sat up again as they joined in.

Kirby’s alarm went off and Fallon lifted her head. Their eyes met, and they stayed there for a moment. Their breath slowed as they inched closer together.

Fallon stopped. “Are you okay with this?”

Kirby responded by closing the already small gap between them and kissed her. Tension lifted from the brunette’s shoulders as she raised one hand and placed it on the other woman’s cheek. Fallon melted into Kirby, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“I missed doing that,” the brunette said after a few moments, once they’d pulled apart and caught their breaths.

This earned her a delirious grin from Kirby. “Then do it again.” 

Fallon bore no protests and kissed her again. It was then that she realised this was what she had wanted through all those sleepless nights and agonisingly silent meals. She wanted Kirby.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kirby whispered, her breath hot on the brunette’s ear. A shiver rippled up her back.

“And do what?”

“Play  _ Scrabble  _ with my dad. What do you  _ think _ ?” The redhead said, her hand resting on Fallon’s bare leg. More goose pimples prickled up on her skin at her touch. The brunette bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing a laugh.

“You know that’s a bad idea,” she said, crossing her legs.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.”

Fallon smiled, giddy nervousness rising inside her as she looked at the other woman. She wanted this, badly. She knew it could end terribly for both of them, and one of them was bound to get hurt, but she needed Kirby.

She looked down, her gaze fixed on their hands which were joined again. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

Fallon didn’t bother letting Liam or her so-called friends know she was leaving. They probably wouldn’t have noticed she’d left them if she hadn’t stormed off. She was used to disappearing only for her to return to Martha and Genevieve asking when she left. She was still fuming at them, anyway.

It didn’t take them long to find a cab. They had already begun lining the street, waiting for people to stagger in and pay twice the usual fare.

The pair fell inside, toppling on top of one another as the car started. Fallon gave her address before pulling Kirby in for another kiss. She kissed her over and over until they were stopped outside the manor. The brunette quickly paid the driver, ducking out of the taxi before it sped away.

The house was empty when she pulled the redhead through the front door by the hand, everyone else at parties elsewhere. The sound of their footsteps echoed against the marble floor as they made their way to the bottom of the stairs.

“No, let’s go to my room. We won’t get caught there,” Kirby said.

They somehow managed to stumble their way into her bedroom, giggling like schoolchildren as they did. They kissed again, falling backwards onto the bed. Kirby pulled away after a few minutes, breathless.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I want this.”

“What?”

“Us. I want us,” Fallon said, taking Kirby’s hand and kissing her knuckles.

“Do you mean now or like before?”

“Baby steps.”

 

* * *

 

Fallon woke up the next morning in someone else’s bed. She let out a soft groan as a headache settled itself and started throbbing as a reminder to never let Genevieve order her drink. 

Kirby’s arm was hooked securely around her, pressing her into the redhead’s body and keeping her firmly in place. The redhead was still asleep, snoring softly.

Fallon turned in Kirby’s grasp and picked her phone up from the nightstand. It was only five twenty-six, so she put her phone back down and snuggled back into the other woman and closed her eyes.

Old habits die hard.


	8. VIII

She didn’t want morning, but it came anyway. Her back ached, pressed against the wall to make room for Fallon in the twin bed. Bouquets of weak morning light crept through the slanted blinds as a shift in the weight of her mattress and the creaking of her bed’s wooden ribs beneath her woke Kirby. She stretched out her arm to find the rest of the bed empty, the duvet pushed down toward the middle. She lifted her head from the makeup-stained pillow, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and caught a glimpse of the brunette standing a metre from the bed, pulling the clasp of her bra closed. 

“What time is it?” Kirby asked, her voice hoarse from the night before and thick from sleep. She pushed the comforter from her body and slid her feet to the carpeted floor with a groan of her disapproval of the frozen air.

“Seven forty-seven. Go back to sleep,” Fallon said, walking to the other side of the room.

The redhead squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness and shook her head. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the brunette said, opening a drawer in the dresser before closing it again and opening another. “Where do you keep your sweaters? It’s so cold in here.”

Kirby snorted, relief flooding through her. She almost thought the other woman was leaving. “Bottom drawer. Come back to bed.”

Fallon did as she was told and crawled back under the covers, now wearing a university hoodie. She used to steal it every night before bed when they were together.

“I can’t believe you still have those pictures up. I put mine away years ago,” she said, her arms snaking around the redhead’s waist.

“I never took them down when we moved out.”

Kirby turned around in the brunette’s arms to face her. She smiled and kissed the other woman on the tip of her nose. An old habit. It may have been three-and-a-half years since they regarded one another with something other than resentment, but their old affections were like muscle memory.  Fallon smiled the genuine smile the redhead hadn’t seen since she’d been back in America. 

“I missed this,” she said, pressing her lips to where Kirby’s jaw met her neck. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Kirby could feel Fallon running through her veins as they lay next to one another, a tangle of limbs. Their conversation thereafter comprised of light, barely-there kisses and breathy laughs. As she lay there, she wanted to stay there forever, so she could hold the other woman for as long as she needed to. She wasn’t sure she’d let go if given the opportunity. They lay in comfortable silence, Fallon petting the redhead’s silence like she used to. Kirby felt safe. Her eyes closed repeatedly, begging her to go back to sleep. She fought it. Fallon was talking to her. But, her attempts were futile.

An hour later the brunette woke her.

“Babe, babe. I’ll be right back, okay?”

The redhead nodded with a hum of approval. She turned to her side, pulling her duvet over her shoulders. She pulled her phone from its charging cord and opened the Instagram app. She watched the buffering sign pinwheel slowly, cursing Blake for being so frugal with the broadband despite his bottomless bank account.

The first photo on her feed winded her, stealing her breath as though it had never belonged to her in the first place. Fallon and Liam kissing outside of Club Colby the night before. The picture was all over her feed and explore page, posted by local tabloids with heart-eye emojis for captions. They were everywhere.

Her sleepy demeanour instantly morphed to that of anger and confusion. She sat up, her heart beating heavily in her throat. 

Fallon had told her Liam was just a friend; that there was nothing between them. She promised. This was the worst thing Fallon had ever done to her. It was the worst thing she could ever do to Kirby, or that’s what the betrayal in her chest told her, anyway. She was more than used to drunken insults the brunette didn’t mean, or become collateral damage for one of Fallon’s ludicrous schemes, but this was personal. The redhead was hurt because Fallon lied to her - used her to cheat on her husband. 

Kirby swallowed harshly, tears brimming her eyes. She threw her phone away from her, scrambling to get as far away from it as possible as it bounced from the end of the bed and dropped to the floor with a cracking thud.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, babe?” Fallon asked, coming back into the room. She rushed to the other woman’s side, brushing her hair from her face.

“Don’t call me that,” Kirby said, pushing the brunette’s hand from her forehead. “You can’t just come in here after what you did and act like everything is okay.”

“What are you talking about?”

The redhead picked her phone up again, wincing at the webs of cracks crawling up the screen. “‘ _Fallon Carrington and hubby Liam Ridley spotted celebrating New Year’s early outside Club Colby last night_ ’. You told me there was nothing between you two.”

Fallon stood up straight, her lips moving soundlessly as she tried to think of something to say. Kirby could practically see the cogs whirring in her head. 

“There isn’t! He isn’t my husband - not anymore. There is nothing between us,” the brunette said. Her breath quickened as she spoke.

“Then why were you kissing him last night? It doesn’t  _ look _ like there’s nothing between you!”

“It’s a publicity thing, I promise. I don’t have any feelings for him.”

“Like you didn’t have feelings for Culhane or Genevieve?”

“That was different,” Fallon said, her bottom lip between her teeth as visible panic settled over her.

“How? How was it any different?” Kirby demanded, crossing her arms over herself. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from crying.

“It just  _ is _ , okay! Why don’t you trust me?”

It was a question the brunette had asked many times, but this time it sent a stabbing pain through the redhead’s chest.

“You’ve never given me a reason to,” Kirby replied. Her tone was cool and even, but anger was rising in her chest.

“What the hell is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means!”

“Answer the question!”

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Fallon opened her mouth, an insult poised on the tip of her tongue. She faltered and closed her lips again, swallowing her words. It seemed she finally understood fighting never got her anywhere. 

“I don’t know,” Fallon said, defeated. She took a few steps back and stared at the other woman, who was avoiding her gaze like the plague.

“I want you to leave, please.”

Fallon hesitated. She looked to the ceiling for a moment and pursed her lips before meeting Kirby’s eyes. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I’m sorry.”

Kirby didn’t dignify her with a response and looked away. Her heart dropped and contracted painfully as she heard the door snap shut. The woman she thought she loved was gone.  _ Again _ . Kirby should have expected something like this to happen. It was exactly something the brunette would do. She was _Fallon Carrington_ and she did as she pleased - regardless of who she hurt in the process.

Kirby couldn’t help but feel like Fallon had done all of this on purpose. She knew it was a delusional thought, but the wounded voice in the back of her head told her the brunette knew Kirby wouldn’t have gone home with her if she’d known she was married - even if it was fake. Fallon didn’t need the redhead, she needed a hangover cure, and Kirby was sick of being one.

Fallon phoned six times. Kirby declined six times. After the last, when her patience was gone, she sent a text:

**_Anders, Kirby:_ ** _ fuck off. _

She hit send before she could rationalise it. The second the text went through, she wanted to take it back. Regret pulsed angrily through her. This was one of the many reasons they’d broken up in the first place; why Fallon refused to talk about Savannah. Kirby had the worst habit of saying things she could never take back. This time, Fallon was in the wrong; the redhead’s response was almost justified. She was lucky. Normally, it wasn’t.

Kirby wasn’t sure how long it had been when there was a knock on the door. She felt as though she’d been lying there for hours. She rolled to her side to check the time: a quarter to twelve. She ignored the knock and pulled her duvet over her head in hopes of it shielding her head from reality. It didn’t. The darkness only enabled her mind to further overthink her situation with Fallon.

“I saw Fallon sneaking out of here this morning,” her father said, entering without invitation. She couldn’t overlook the disappointment in his voice. He sat down at the end and stared at her.

She grimaced at him. “Yeah. I told her to get out.”

“Why?” he asked. “She’s not doing well.”

“She was pretty drunk last night.”

“I didn’t mean her hangover.”

She stared at him, struggling to articulate what she wanted to say. He was trying to make her feel guilty, and it was working. Her words tangled together as she sat agape. After a moment, she sighed and spoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me she’s married?”

“At this point, I find it hard to keep up with Miss Carrington’s courtings.”

Kirby didn’t say anything and crossed her arms over herself, pouting.

“Why do you always do this to yourself? What is so great about her that you can’t stay away from her?”

She killed the comment on her tongue about his hypocrisy and undying loyalty to the Carringtons. “I don’t  _ know _ !”

Kirby knew exactly why she couldn’t stay away from Fallon. She knew she was better off without her; her wellbeing improved drastically when they were apart. But, there was something about the brunette that pulled Kirby head-first right into her.

Her father stood up again. He moved to leave the room but stopped at the door. “Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes. Please get dressed and come eat.”

She threw a pillow at the door after it shut. She had no intention of going upstairs - not when Fallon was home. Her father could hound her all he wanted; it would be a cold day in hell before Kirby would sit in the same room as her ex-girlfriend again.

She needed to get up and do something, but the ache in her head from the combination of her hangover and the crying made her want to lay in bed and wallow until she felt better.

Kirby stood from her bed, her empty stomach lurching, and stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her hair was askew, red lipstick and love bites smudged down her neck and along her collar bones. She scowled as her eyes fell on the photographs around the edge. She ripped the closest one from the mirror - the night Kirby came out to Fallon. A swell of anger and longing nostalgia rose in her chest. She tore it in half before throwing it in the bin at her feet. She did the same for the other four, her fingers shaking with rage as she did.

She’d been angry with Fallon a fair amount in the lifetime they’d known one another, but never had she done something like this. While their pictures together had served as longing nostalgia only days previous, the redhead couldn’t bear the sight of them anymore.  

She needed to get out of the house. Fallon’s perfume lingering in her hair and on her clothes suffocated her; the mere thought of seeing her ex-girlfriend again choked her. She needed out.  _ Now _ .

 

* * *

  
  


Kirby shut off the shower after the scalding water failed to soothe the rigidity in her muscles. Her skin shone red where she scrubbed lipstick and Chanel No.5 from it. She wrung out her hair over the sink before wrapping around herself. 

She returned to her room, a familiar ache in her chest as the sight of her barren bedroom.  She’d come full circle. It was the same way it was when she moved back in two weeks ago. As much as she felt she needed to get out of the house, she hated to leave the house she grew up in again.

Kirby took an hour to locate and pack her things. She didn’t know where she was going to stay, she just needed to get out of the house before Fallon gained the courage to come talk to her again. She couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

She got dressed and dragged her bags into the foyer, Henry meowing loudly in his crate.

“Escaping already?” Fallon stood at the bottom of the stairs, still wearing Kirby’s UGA hoodie. The redhead didn’t have the heart to ask for it back. The words were supposed to be playful, but the brunette’s voice came out strangled and gravelly.

Kirby nodded as she fumbled with her keys. She had to get out of there immediately. She could already feel the tears coming again. She couldn’t cry in front of the other woman. Not again.

“I know you hate me right now, and you have every right to. What I did was so wrong. But I hope you’ll forgive me someday. If and when you do, I’ll be here waiting,” the brunette said, walking towards the redhead. She smiled sadly and crossed her arms over herself. It took everything Kirby had not to forgive her then and there and stay.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Fallon took another step forward, reaching her hands behind Kirby’s head.

“What are you-”

“Your collar’s popped. I like the purple, by the way,” the brunette looked around, stalling. “Did your landlord fix the problems in your place?”

“No. My roommate just bought a bunch of space heaters so we can move back in,” Kirby said, picking up Henry’s crate and opening the front door.

“So you’re going home?”

“Well, I’m going back to my apartment, yeah.” She wasn’t going home. This was home.

“Do you need help with your bags?”

Kirby shook her head and left. She let out a frustrated sob as she closed the door behind her. She missed Fallon already. They were a perfect match. Perhaps that’s why they burned out so quickly.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Kirby pushed open the heavy door of her apartment and sighed as she started up the seven flights of stairs. Her cold-numb hands still shook with adrenaline as she hauled her bags with her. She hadn’t calmed down yet, despite her desire to. It had only been a few hours, after all. The wounds were still fresh.  Seeing Fallon again had only reignited the emptiness in her chest.

She couldn't believe Fallon just talked to her as though she could ever forgive her in such a short amount of time. It was infuriating. Kirby had no idea how she could even entertain the notion the redhead would stay there with her. She loved Fallon. She couldn’t deny that anymore, but even the idea of seeing her again only twisted the knife in her heart.

Lilah sat on the sofa closest to the door, wrapped in a tower of throw blankets and surrounded by cheap space heaters. She jumped to her feet at the sound of her roommate entering the apartment. She grabbed one of the redhead’s bags and helped her to her room without saying a word.

Kirby dropped her bags at the door of her bedroom and made a beeline for her bed, and lay back on it with an exhausted groan. 

“Ian let us borrow the emergency generator until tomorrow, so we can watch a movie or something,” Lilah said, making herself comfortable at the end of the bed. The redhead grimaced at her, still irritated after their spat in the coffee shop.

“Glad to be getting away from Trust Fund?” her roommate asked, her voice laced with explicit but inexplicable excitement. 

Kirby shrugged, staring at the ceiling unblinking. Her body felt heavy, weak with lack of sleep.

“What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to make a vague comment about casual relationships, but the look of genuine concern on Lilah’s face made Kirby swallow them. As detached as they had been as of late, the redhead hated lying to the other woman.

“She’s married.”

Lilah didn’t say anything for a moment, and studied the room around her as she held her silence. She frowned and shook her head.

“You know, I really care about you, and I hate seeing you like this. I don’t know much about your relationship with Fallon, but you’ve never had anything good to say about her. She’s hurting you. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, and I hope it’s not, but she’s doing this to you and I hate it. Is Fallon Carrington really worth all this heartbreak?”

Kirby shook her head, lying to both herself and Lilah. She knew, deep down, Fallon was worth everything and anything. She would never tell her roommate that, though.

This was none of the other woman’s business. She had no right to lecture the redhead on her relationships and terrible choices regarding them. In the past, Lilah was always the one to tell her bad decisions lead to personal growth. Apparently, her views had changed.

“I think I just want to be left alone for a while,” Kirby said dejectedly, her voice cracking on her last syllable. She let out an exasperated breath, refusing to cry in front of her roommate because of Fallon. She didn’t have the strength for the ‘I told you so’ speech the other woman definitely, and reasonably, had planned.

Lilah nodded and left after a moment without another word, leaving Kirby alone with her feelings. Although it was per her request, the redhead wished she hadn’t. She needed to get her head out of her head or she’d drive herself mad.

 


	9. IX

Kirby wasn’t going to forgive her, and Fallon couldn’t blame her for it. She wouldn’t forgive her, either. The heartache in the redhead’s eyes was impossible to ignore. The brunette wanted the ground to swallow her whole; anything to stop the guilt from eating her alive.

She shouldn’t have said anything in the foyer. She should have walked past the other woman and given her the space she so desperately wanted. She was an idiot.

Anders walked past, raising a suspicious eyebrow as his daughter left the house. He never had approved of their relationship. He knew Fallon was bad for Kirby. The redhead should have listened to his warnings that Fallon would hurt her- he was right.

Fallon glanced back at the door. She could hear Kirby talking to someone on the other side. It took everything in her to stop herself from begging her to stay.

This was all too similar to the night before Kirby left for Australia. Fallon had refused to let her explain; told her to get out without allowing her to speak. In hindsight, the redhead wouldn’t have left without warning had Fallon given her that chance. She’d always blamed Kirby, but she was beginning to realise this was her fault. It was always her fault. She ruined everything.

She stuffed her hands into the pocket of Kirby’s hoodie and walked back upstairs to her bedroom. She couldn’t remember why she had even gone down in the first place. She passed Sam and Steven on the landing, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to hear them talking about how they heard her conversation with Kirby moments before.

She fell back onto her bed, her regret and hangover hitting her like a tonne of bricks, choking her breath. She was so,  _ so _ stupid. She should have said something last night. She always did this.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her message thread with her ex-girlfriend, hoping the redhead’s message from earlier had somehow disappeared. It hadn’t. She looked to the previous message; Kirby sending a link to the photos from the women in business shoot. Fallon couldn’t resist the urge to look back at their older messages.

The most recent before that was Fallon asking why she was in the redhead’s house two weeks before, and the one before that was the brunette letting Kirby know she was getting on a flight to come see her, and she’d call once she’d landed in Sydney for her layover. Neither were answered.

She scrolled back, tears making an appearance as she read through her hundreds of unanswered messages from when Kirby was in Australia. She should have known this was a bad idea. But it was becoming apparent she only made terrible decisions.

**_Fallon:_ ** _ I love you and miss you!!! _

**_Fallon:_ ** _ missing you!!!! _

**_Fallon:_ ** _ call me when you get this I’ve got some news!! _

**_Fallon:_ ** _ We need to talk. _

She stared at that last message for a few long moments, remembering how awful she had felt when she sent it. She’d just gotten home from work - Blake had rejected her application for a promotion, and she hadn’t heard from her girlfriend in five months. That message was the beginning of the end. It hadn’t seemed that way then. Kirby Skyped her an hour after she sent it and everything was okay again for a while. Until it wasn’t.

If only she had let Kirby explain what was going on that night; let her talk. Sometimes Fallon wondered if they’d still be together if she had. She doubted it. Toxic was a strong word, but their relationship wasn’t exactly healthy - not with Fallon’s refusal to come out to her family and Kirby’s irrational fear of getting stuck. It was a nice, yet delusional, thought - them still living together in their unnecessarily small apartment with Henry, and maybe another cat.

The brunette shook her head to rid herself of the idea. It would never happen, not now. They weren’t sixteen anymore. She couldn’t win over the redhead with a few phone calls and stolen kisses. She’d screwed up too much for that to ever work again - Kirby held a grudge like it was her job.

Fallon scrolled back down to the most recent texts.

**_Anders, Kirby:_ ** _ fuck off. _

She deserved it; she knew she did, but that didn’t stop the tightness in her chest when she read it again. She typed out her own message, reading it over a few times before backspacing and deleting it. Kirby hadn’t answered one of her texts in four years. She wasn’t going to start now. Fallon considered calling her instead. She wouldn’t answer. She’d already called her six times, not one of them answered. Nothing would have changed in the last hour. Nothing would ever change.

 

* * *

  
  
  


Fallon sat in her car outside  _ Aria.  _ She’d been sitting there for over ten minutes, trying to will herself to go in. Liam texted her to tell her he was already inside with his uncle. She knew - she’d watched them go in. It was half the reason she wanted to stay where she was.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror of the sunshade and told herself she was doing this for the company. This was no more than a business deal, but she couldn’t get the fact Liam was unknowingly ruining her personal life out of her head. How was she supposed to act as a loving wife when he dashed any chance she had with the only person she’d ever loved?

She took a deep breath before getting out of her car and going into the restaurant. It was empty apart from the table in the dead centre of the room, where Liam and Max were sitting. He’d hired out the whole restaurant again.

“Fallon!” Max said, standing from his chair once she’d gotten to them. She smiled, accepting his hug. She swallowed harshly as she broke from his embrace and turned to his nephew. Fallon did not want to kiss Liam, which Max was undoubtedly expecting. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him; she didn’t even want to look at him. But, his pervert of an uncle expected it, so she had to.

Liam leaned forward and planted a kiss on the corner of her lips. She jerked her head back in response and sat down without speaking to either of them.

“I’m glad you’re finally here. How come you two didn’t come together? I saw you were together last night,” Max said, reading the menu. 

Fallon clenched her teeth to stop herself from telling him the truth. She didn’t have a reason. Liam didn’t even know where she was last night.

“I had a family commitment this morning. I’m sorry I’m late, traffic was crazy,” she said, closing her hands together on the table in front of her. He didn’t look at her but nodded nonetheless.

Liam and Max settled into a light conversation as they chose their meals, talking about the fake couple’s fake night before. Fallon wasn’t listening - she was too busy trying to think of a reason to leave. She couldn’t excuse herself to the bathroom and escape. She’d already pulled that on Liam, and she was almost sure he’d see it coming this time.

Fallon only spoke to order her meal, hoping her silence would get her out of there faster, but the men didn’t seem to notice and made no attempt to include her in the conversation. It felt like a board meeting at work.

She didn’t mind, though; she would have rather done anything else than talk to them. She had other things to think about, like how to get Kirby to forgive her. It was a long shot, but she needed it to happen. She’d lived without Kirby for almost four years now and, to be truthful, it was a thousand times worse than this lunch date.

Fallon missed the little things about Kirby. She hated it wasn’t the two of them staying up too late playing  _ The Sims _ ; she missed eating cereal at four in the afternoon while the redhead watched  _ Neighbours _ and the brunette complained. She missed their non-plans they’d only have with one another, staying in bed in their shared apartment when they were just out of college.

She missed having Kirby all to herself; craved her sole attention.  It was selfish, she knew that, especially when it was Fallon’s own fault she wasn’t getting it, but she couldn’t help it. Fallon wasn’t sure what happened to the Kirby who partied too hard and got nosebleeds when she did her maths homework or who skipped school to watch the  _ Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.  _ But she wanted her back. She wanted  _ her  _ Kirby back.

As the servers placed their food in front of them, Max addressed her for the first time since she’d sat down, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“So, when are you two planning on having children?” He asked casually, as though he was talking about the weather. Fallon almost spat out her water as his words registered. Apparently, this had already been the topic of conversation as Liam didn't look half as surprised as she felt.

“Excuse me?” She replied, getting defensive. Her cheeks flushed under her makeup as she stared between the two of them, both embarrassed and outraged at such a question.

“Not for a while,” Liam said, nudging her in the ribs with his elbow. She wanted to vomit as he took her hand in his. “Fallon is still focusing on her career, and we’re just not ready yet.”

“Never,” Fallon said almost simultaneously, her mouth moving faster than her head. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she needed to get away from this.

“You don’t want children?” Max asked, looking borderline horrified at the notion.

Fallon froze for a few seconds, her mind screeching to a halt before adrenaline kicked back in and she remembered why she was so angry.

“Not with Liam. I hate to be the one to break it to you, Mr Van Kirk, but Liam and I aren’t married - haven’t been for almost a year now. This whole thing was to get you to sign those papers to buy CA. It was his idea, actually,” she said, prickly indignation coursing through her. She knew she would regret this by the time she left the building, but she couldn’t seem to shut up. “And I can’t take it anymore. Both of you make me incredibly uncomfortable, and your presence is utterly intolerable. I’m really not into being manipulated by vehemently egotistical men, so I’ll be going.”

She stood from the table, fingers trembling as she walked away from the gawking men. She was an idiot. She had just jeopardised the deal because of her dislike of a business partner. This was the height of unprofessionalism. Blake was going to kill her.

Fallon got into her car as Liam left the restaurant to talk to her. She’d blown the deal,

“What the hell was that?” He demanded, holding open the car door so she couldn’t leave. “I get that this situation isn’t ideal, but you had no right to do that.”

“And  _ you _ had no right to tell your family we were married when we got an annulment a week later. You had no right to manipulate me into fake marrying you when I was  _ engaged  _ to someone else. You had no right to be in my life after the marriage was over. You’ve already ruined one of my relationships, and I’m not going to let you ruin another one,” she said, still trying to pull the door closed, but he wouldn’t let go.

“First of all, I didn’t manipulate you. You agreed to this. This was a business deal.”

“That was only supposed to last a weekend. You and your uncle have been dragging this on for months.”

“Second of all,” Liam continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “You’re not dating anyone. How am I supposed to ruin a relationship you don’t have?”

“How are you so sure I don’t? I wasn’t officially dating them or anything, but they broke things off this morning after our photos from last night surfaced. No,  _ don’t  _ give me that look. I get that there was something when we  _ were  _ together, but I can’t have you in my life anymore.”

Liam pulled his hand through his hair and opened his mouth to speak. Before he had the opportunity, Fallon pulled the door closed and drove away. Her jaw clenched and her knuckles gripped white on the steering wheel as she watched him stare after her, standing at the mouth of the parking lot. Another wave of a combination of anger and anguish washed over, nervous knots tangling themselves in the back of her throat and down her spine.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Fallon stopped a mile away from her house, pulling onto the side of the road. She went to lean her head against the steering wheel, instead hitting it against it in an attempt to clear her scrambling mind.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t go home - the thought of facing her father put a sour taste in her mouth. By now, Max would have told him the deal was off, all because his daughter couldn’t keep her mouth shut. God, she wished she had just  _ shut up.  _

Her lungs contracted painfully, constricting her airflow as she tried to suck in air. She pulled her hair from her face with her still-quivering fingers, now shaking from anxiety instead of anger. She took another deep breath, focusing on her surroundings: a strip of trees along either side of the winding road where Kirby kept a count of how many times Fallon had almost crashed. The sky was grey, and occasional spits of rain fell on her windshield. Everything around her felt so mundane compared to her inner turmoil. There were no gale force winds or claps of thunder like there were inside her head. Nothing had stopped because her life was falling apart, and nothing would, either. 

It took twenty minutes for her heart to rest at a safe rate and her breathing to go back to normal. Her stomach still churned as she drove the remaining five minutes home, every one of her father’s possible reactions playing out in her head. He  _ could _ be grateful - he hadn’t wanted to sell the company in the first place. This was unlikely, as Blake liked to find a way to blame his daughter when it came to things like this. He most likely would freak out; call her irresponsible and immature and threaten to fire her or kick her out. This was all routine by now.

Blake was nowhere to be found when Fallon came through the front door. The air hung eerily silent as walked through to his office. She breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered it empty. Upstairs was dormant, too; everyone else out of the house for the day.

Fallon’s room reminded her of Kirby. It shouldn’t, given that she’d remodelled it after the breakup for the same reason. They’d fallen in love in here, braiding one another’s hair and talking until the early morning sun crept through the open drapes. 

She opened her closet and reached for a shoebox hidden in the back corner. It had sat there for the last two and a half years, collecting dust while she tried to forget what was inside. She never did, the memories plaguing the back of her mind whenever she had a moment to think.

She opened it up and was greeted with several stacks of photographs neatly sorted by year, a few concert tickets, and the silver  _ K  _ necklace Kirby gifted her for her twenty-first birthday. A happy sigh escaped her smiling lips as she picked up her ticket stub from a Paramore concert from two thousand and ten. It had been their first official date as girlfriends. It was twice as awkward as either of them had expected, but Fallon considered it one of the best nights of her life regardless.

The photo closest to her hand was one of the first pictures ever taken of them together. They were no older than four years old, wearing matching pink tutus over their clothes, looking to be giggling as they hugged on top of the climbing frame that once stood in the back garden of the manor. Butterflies fluttered in Fallon’s stomach as she stared at it, remembering how much love she had for the redhead even then, when they were so little.

Her smile fell from her face and dread rose in her throat when she heard the front door slam and her phone chime.

**_Dad:_ ** _ My office. Now. _

She dropped the photo back into the box and scrambled to hide it again before someone came upstairs. She sprang to her feet, but stopped abruptly outside her bedroom door, every nerve ending in her body tingling with hesitant apprehension. She had to coax herself down the stairs and talk herself out of running back to the safety of her room.

Fallon held her breath as she knocked twice on the study door. There was a beat with no response, then the sound of shuffling papers and a muffled ‘ _ Come in.’  _

“How could you be so reckless?” Blake said, throwing any greeting out the window. He stood behind his desk, so visibly angry Fallon could practically see steam rising from his ears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not even bothering to come up with an excuse. She had screwed up, majorly, and there was no chance she’d be able to talk her way out of this. Her father shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, staring at his desk.

“I thought we’d gotten past this. I thought you were mature enough not to sabotage things because you don’t like them. This is completely unacceptable!”

“I know, I know. And I really am sorry, but I was suffocating playing house with Liam, and Mr Van Kirk was refusing to sign the papers. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“You couldn’t have waited a few more weeks until he did?” Blake asked, raising one of his hands. “The Van Kirks won’t ever want to do business with us again because of this! They’ll bring this to the press, and you know how important reputation is.”

Fallon opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut again once she thought over what she was about to say. 

“ _ No, _ ” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I couldn’t wait, because he’s ruining any chance I have of having a relationship. He already broke Michael and me up, and I’m not going to let him ruin this one too. I’m sorry.”

“Is this about Kirby?” Blake asked defeatedly, crossing his arms.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, staring at him in pure disbelief. Fallon tried to ignore the look of exasperation on his face; to swallow the tears his question brought along. She looked to the ceiling, wringing her hands together. She had to tell him. This had been eating her up inside since was fifteen years old. She had to tell him now or she never would.

She nodded, gaze firmly on the ground. “Yeah. It is. H… How… How did you know?”

“You two were terrible at hiding it in the first place, and Anders caught you sneaking out of her room this morning,” he said, easing up a bit. He hesitated for a second before continuing. “But…  er… a little while before she moved, she asked me if it was okay if she asked you to marry her.”

Fallon’s heart stopped beating for a second. He had to be joking. He  _ had _ to be. There was no way in hell Kirby had  _ ever  _ considered proposing. They’d discussed it. She’d never wanted…

Fallon laughed, her body reacting before her brain could. She laughed like her father hadn’t just told her that her ex-girlfriend had wanted to marry her. 

“You’re kidding,” she said, uneasy tension pulling at her heartstrings. She didn’t know how she felt about it, but she didn’t like the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach the revelation brought along. She thought her throat might close over when he said nothing.

“I thought it was a joke at first. I didn’t realise she was serious until she started talking about how she would propose. I told her she could, by the way.”

Fallon nodded. “So you know?” 

It was vague, but it was all she could muster.

“Do I know what?” He was humouring her, so she could come out herself, which only doubled the weight sitting on her shoulders.

“That I like girls,” she said simply.

“I do,” he said, “and I have, for a long time. But I’m glad I’m finally hearing it from you.”

Blake stepped forward and hugged her for the first time in more than a year. It wasn’t until then she realised just how her heart ached for his attention. She squeezed him tight, soaking up all the affection before it stopped. He pulled away first, a ghost of a smile pulling on his lips. He didn’t look proud, but he wasn’t disappointed, either. And that was almost a win.

Fallon left the office, her head light but her heart heavy as she beelined for the kitchen.

“Anders?” She said, coming through the doorway.

“Yes?” He asked, turning to face her. “Do you need anything?”

“Kirby’s address.”


	10. X

Kirby stared at the ceiling, her eyes glazed over with exhaustion and her body curled beneath her duvet. Every inch of her ached for a cigarette, but her unwillingness to see her roommate kept her glued to her bed. She shifted her weight to her left side and rolled onto her stomach, burying her head in her pillow and swallowing the urge to scream out her frustration with herself, with Lilah, and with Fallon.

She knew the jealousy and betrayal still buried deep in her stomach weren’t justified. Fallon wasn’t hers - hadn’t been in years. She  _ knew _ that, but it didn’t stop her face from flushing or her thoughts from twisting when she tried to rationalise things with herself.

Kirby sat up, a groan rising in her throat as her hungover body’s protest. She needed to do something - anything - to take her mind off her pathetic love life. She slid out of bed, huffing at herself for lying there for so long her leg fell asleep. She dragged herself from her bedroom to the kitchen, supposing eating something couldn’t hurt. As expected, all that was in the fridge were three cans of Diet Coke and her roommate’s week-old leftovers - just as she thought her mood couldn’t get any worse.

Her phone lit up, pulling her attention from the inside of the refrigerator. She frowned, the thought of dealing with other people making her skin crawl. A weight settled on her shoulders when she saw her little sister’s contact photo. Rorey was trying to FaceTime her. They hadn’t spoken in eight months.

“Kirby!” The teenager greeted with a surprised grin. Kirby’s heart jolted at the sight of her - she’d grown up so much in so little time. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

The redhead scoffed but inwardly agreed. She  _ did  _ have a habit of ghosting people. “Of course I’d answer, babes, who do you take me for?”

“Are you okay?” Rorey asked, her eyebrows knitting together as she got a good look at her older sister’s appearance.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little hungover. How is everything with you?” Kirby asked, as an ache she didn’t know she’d had faded away. “How is Benjamin?”

“Benji’s great! He’s crawling around here. Give me a second and you can talk to him.”

“What time is it there?”

“Seven-thirty,” Rorey said, reappearing with her babbling son on her lap. “Say hi to Auntie Kirby, Benj.”

“Hey, um, have you heard from Darce lately?” The teenager asked, her voice hushing to just above a whisper.

“No.” 

Kirby hadn’t spoken to their sister in three and a half years, they were hardly going to be in contact again after the redhead moved halfway across the world.

“Why, is she okay?” While she disliked Darcy with every fibre of her being, Kirby didn’t want her sister to come to harm.

“Yeah, yeah. She’s absolutely fine. I was just worried she’d tell you first,” Rorey said, grinding her teeth together. “Er… Dad’s getting married again.”

Kirby shook her head before she even processed the words. The apartment’s buzzer went off before she could. Normally, she’d rather fling herself out her window than see someone while hungover, but she mentally thanked whoever it was for getting her out of the single worst conversation she’d had in years.

“Oh, um… someone’s here. I’m sorry, but could I maybe call you back later?” 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll talk to you later, Kirb.”

Kirby trudged over to the front door and held down the intercom. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” the other voice said, coming through uneven, “it’s, er… it’s Fallon. I know you hate me and you don’t want to talk to me, but I have some of your things and I really need to talk to you about something.”

Kirby’s blood ran cold, her head spinning and her heart hammering in her chest. Against her better judgment, she held her breath and let her ex-girlfriend in. She needed some sort of closure to get over this. She needed their pointless, tiresome cat and mouse chase to end. She was sick of tip toeing on eggshells when in the brunette’s father’s house because she was so afraid of running into her. She needed this to end.

Fallon knocked on the door two minutes later. The redhead stood in front of it for a few moments, contemplating not letting her in, after all. She swallowed her pride and opened the door to the brunette.

Fallon looked rough. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun and she was wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, this one her own. Kirby hadn’t seen her like this since their junior year of high school. Something had to be wrong. The redhead let the other woman into the apartment without saying anything. She didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t want her ex-girlfriend to be here. She walked further into her home, needing as much space as possible between them lest she did something stupid, like strangle Fallon - or worse, kiss her again.

Fallon and Kirby stared at one another, twenty metres apart, animosity and craving pulsing through the air between them. A minute passed, light eyes locked on dark.

The brunette broke the silence, taking a step forward. “You told him.”

This meant nothing to Kirby. She didn’t know what she told who, but the other woman’s tone told her she was in trouble and sent shivers down her back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, a little too quickly. She sounded guilty despite telling the truth. She took a step backwards, her head colliding with a wall as she kept her gaze fixed on Fallon.

“You told my dad,” Fallon elaborated. She didn’t sound angry, or even frustrated, as Kirby would have expected in this situation. Her tone was neutral, almost bored. “You told him about us.”

The colour drained from the redhead’s face. She opened her bone-dry mouth to explain, but no words came. How was she supposed to justify outing Fallon to her father? Kirby guessed this was the day she died; the brunette looked too calm - she had something planned.

“And he told me you wanted to propose.”

“Fallon…” Kirby started but stopped herself before she could finish whatever she was going to say. She felt like she was short-circuiting. All the running she’d done for the last four years was finally catching up with her, and she didn’t like it.

“Is that true? Did you really want to marry me?” Fallon asked, her voice soft and her eyes downcast. She twisted her arms around herself, rubbing her lips together before looking up again.

“At one point, yes,” the redhead said without hesitation. There was no point lying now.

“I don’t understand,” the brunette said after a short while. The distance between them halved as she walked towards the redhead. Her expression was even. This had to be some sort of trap. This was going to end in tears, and Kirby  _ really  _ wasn’t emotionally prepared for it.

“Is that why you’re here? To  _ understand _ ?  _ Or _ are you here to yell at me?” She asked, only half-expecting an answer. Washes of irrational dread came over her in frequent, heavier-by-the-second waves as she stood there, backed against the wall. “If you came here for an argument about what happened three years ago, I’m not interested.”

A beat of uneasy, asphyxiating silence. Fallon dropped her focus to the floor again, studying the chipped wooden floorboards. She shook her head, a weary laugh escaping her upturned lips. Did she find this  _ funny _ ? Kirby must have missed the joke.

“I just think it’s odd how you were planning on  _ marrying  _ me and then you end up dumping me,” Fallon said, looking up and lifting her left hand to the side of her face. “Some commitment that is. But, to answer your question: yes, I’m here to understand what the hell you wanted from our relationship at the end. And, like I already told you, I have some of your things.”

She lifted up a bag Kirby hadn’t noticed, an expression on her face that clearly read  _ duh.  _ The redhead ignored it.

“It wasn’t fair to keep stringing you along like that.”

It was a vague and pathetic excuse. Kirby’s insides burned as the brunette slowly inched her way across the living room. They were actually going to discuss their breakup and the redhead was far from ready to do so. It might have been almost four years ago now, but there was no way she’d be able to talk about it with Fallon without wanting to flee back to Australia.

“You weren’t stringing me along! How many times did I tell you that I understood? I  _ told _ you I would wait.”

Fallon didn’t understand; she could  _ never _ understand.

“Would you have waited four years until I got back here?” Kirby asked, her voice raised and her fingers twisting in the ends of her hair. When Fallon said nothing, she chuckled darkly. “Fucking exactly.”

“If you had just let me-”

“No! You don’t get to do this. I  _ chose  _ to leave. I even took the  _ fucking cat _ , Fallon! Don’t you dare stand there and defend me like you haven’t resented me for it since the day I left.”

Fallon sighed. There was barely a metre between them now. Every inch of Kirby’s body tingled with suppressed feelings she still couldn’t understand, her breaths coming in uneven pants as she studied her ex-girlfriend’s face. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to stop the tears rising in her eyes. She couldn’t even  _ think _ about this without a meltdown, how was Fallon expecting her to  _ talk  _ about it?

“Henry is  _ your  _ cat,” the brunette said softly, pausing and pushing Kirby’s hair from her face. “You didn’t choose to leave. You needed to be with your mom.”

Kirby wanted to scream. Her bottom lip trembled as she stared at the other woman, in shock Fallon had the audacity to bring it up. Then came the tears she had tried so hard to stop.

“I love you, Kirb. I would have waited forever for you to come home.”

_ Liar. _

The redhead clenched her teeth, trying and failing to subdue the bitter tears carving their path down her face. Her nails left crescent moons in her hands as she opened them and shook them out. She couldn’t believe she was crying in front of Fallon. She was mortified. She promised herself she’d never do this again, and here she was doing it.

“Stop. Just … stop talking. Don’t talk about her, please. I’m not ready yet.”

“Kirby, it’s been three years -”

“You don’t think I know that? It’s been twelve years and  _ you’re _ still not over  _ your _ mom, and she’s  _ alive _ . Three years isn’t  _ nearly _ long enough,” Kirby said, her voice wobbling. 

Fallon faltered for a second. “I’m not saying you need to get over it. I’m not. I’m saying you need to talk about it. Bottling this up isn’t good for you.”

Kirby choked back a sob, more than grateful for the wall pressed against her back to keep her upright. She was almost sure her knees were close to buckling. The brunette wrapped her arms around Kirby, whispering muffled condolences in her ear. Kirby’s body shuddered against the contact and she pressed her face into the other woman’s shoulder. She took a deep breath, inhaling Fallon’s scent.

Fallon kissed her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let it all out.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirby said after a few minutes - after she’d calmed down. She lifted her head from the brunette’s shoulder and leant it against the wall behind her, hiccoughing quietly.

“You don’t have to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.  _ I’m  _ sorry for ever being angry at you for going. It wasn’t fair.”

“Yes, I do! I knew for a week that I had to leave, and I didn’t tell you until the day before and I didn’t even tell you why! And then I  _ stayed _ ! It was such a dick move, and I’m sorry.”

Kirby deflated, every ounce of energy leaching out of her. She wished Fallon would hurry up, say what she needed to, and leave so she could go back to bed and never leave it.

“If you’re here to talk about that night, Fallon, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m just not ready.”

“Let’s sit down, okay? Talk things over?” Fallon suggested, ignoring Kirby’s words. She untangled herself from the redhead and took her hand. Kirby followed her, her legs moving without instruction.

Neither of them said anything for a long while. The only sounds in the apartment were Henry’s contented mewling and Lilah’s music humming through the paper-thin walls. Kirby revelled in it, the not-talking. The thought of talking about  _ anything _ suffocated her. She wasn’t ready, and she doubted she ever would be.

Their fingers were still laced tightly together. The familiarity of it all sent another set of shivers up her arms and along her shoulders. This shouldn’t have felt as right as it did. This should have felt awkward; not like they’d never broken up and this was still their life. It shouldn’t be this way.

Kirby let her eyes linger on Fallon for a moment, soaking up every second of silence before they inevitably started fighting again. If it was going to be this pleasant, she might as well enjoy it.

“Kirb, do you remember the day we moved into the apartment?” The brunette asked, swallowing hard. Kirby nodded, her eyes closed, breath ragged. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

The redhead shook her head no, keeping her eyes closed. It was a lie - she did remember. Fallon had brought this up the day they broke up. Of course she remembered.

“You told me we’d be forever. You said you’d grow old with me. You promised me.”

“And I also told you I’d never hurt you. I broke a lot of promises, Fall.”

Kirby detested the way Fallon calling her ‘Kirb’ made her feel; the butterflies having a field day in her stomach, her neck heating up, her skin tingling where they touch. She hated it. What she hated more, though, was the way her heart rate was accelerating when the brunette brought up their old life.

Fallon shrugged, uncaring. “You didn’t mean to.”

Kirby opened her mouth and closed it again, deciding against talking at all. There were a million things she wanted to say, all of them knotted and tangled and inconceivable in her incomprehensible mess of a mind. There was nothing she could say to Fallon without hurting her feelings, and while she was still fuming with her, hurting her was Kirby’s last intention.

Lilah’s music stopped, blanketing the small apartment in stifling silence. A moment later she came from her bedroom, stopping abruptly as the hallway met the living area.

“I thought she might have left by now,” she said, her tone nothing short of venomous. She crossed her arms over her chest and sent Kirby a disappointed look.

“What do you want?” Kirby asked, coming off blunter than she’d wanted, staring down her gaping roommate.

“You told me you weren’t getting back together,” Lilah said, squaring her jaw with some sort of disapproval - like this was any of her business. “Like two hours ago,” she added after a breath.

“Why do you care?” Fallon asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I don’t see how this concerns you, at all.”

“Aren’t you married or something?” Lilah retorted, stepping closer to the brunette.

“Still not sure how this is any of your business,” Fallon said, standing from the couch. She had at least four inches on Lilah, and the roommate took a step back, her jaw still set, but Kirby saw the harsh glare in her eyes falter.

“Fallon, sit down,” Kirby said with more authority than she ever could have wished for.  _ “Now.” _

Lilah’s eyes snapped to her, her lips sinking to form a pout. “I’m going out.”

She left, slamming the door behind her. The sound reverberated throughout the room, ringing in Kirby’s ears as she looked to Fallon. The brunette’s eyes bored holes into the wall behind Kirby, her expression falling neutral again.

“She’s into you,” she said after a moment. Her gaze darted around the apartment before falling on the redhead again and smiling sadly. “She’s into you,” she repeated, a strangled laugh coming next.

“No, she isn’t,” Kirby said, shaking her head, convincing herself more than the other woman. There was no way on God’s green earth Lilah liked her. She’d made it  _ very  _ clear she was just experimenting that one time they’d hooked up.

“Yeah, she is,” Fallon said, sitting down again. “I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old, I know what it looks like.”

Kirby paused, again lost for what to reply with. The brunette had such a habit of ripping up feelings she’d buried deep years ago, the redhead had whiplash. Who did Fallon think she was, coming in Kirby’s home and trying to rehash things after what happened that morning? Kirby couldn’t do this anymore.

“I need a smoke,” she grumbled standing and making a beeline for the front door. Cool air slapped her cheeks and stung her eyes. She placed a cigarette between her lips and was about to light it when Fallon came up behind her.

“That’s new,” she said, leaning on the doorframe, her tone and expression dripping with disappointment.

“No, it’s not. You  _ know _ it isn’t.  _ You  _ used to do it with me.”

“Yes, but you stopped.”

“And you stopped drinking, but here we are.”

Fallon huffed irritably, shaking her head. “Why did you start again? You were doing so well!”

Kirby shrugged, lighting her cigarette and taking a long drag. The nicotine burned her throat, calming her frazzled nerves. She stared down onto the street, watching cars drive past at probably illegal speeds. She exhaled the smoke, her eyes closed. Only for a second, she forgot everything that happened that day, and everything was fine. Only for a second.

“You don't even have an excuse? You just don’t care?” Fallon said, her voice quiet but firm.

“And you do?”

“My stepmother was murdered by my brother, I almost died in a house fire and my mom left. Again. I think I do. You just gave up.”

“I found out the love of my life almost died on the anniversary of my mum’s death,” Kirby whispered, dropped her cigarette and whipping around to look at her ex-girlfriend.

 Fallon looked horrified, her eyes wide and her lips parted. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

Kirby shook her head, pushing past the brunette to get back inside the apartment. She bit the inside of her cheek and walked back to the couch. A strong scent of Chanel No.5 was left lingering on the fabric, and Fallon’s bag of Kirby’s things lay abandoned on the floor next to the coffee table, taunting her to look inside. She couldn’t, not with her ex-girlfriend there - not when Fallon had made it clear she wanted them to get back together. Looking inside the bag was a bad idea.

Fallon sat down next to her again, silent and cautious. She knew she was treading a thin line. Neither said anything as Kirby slid off the sofa and onto the floor, bringing the bag into her lap and letting it sit there for a few moments. Looking inside the bag was a bad idea;  _ everything _ involving Fallon was a bad idea - not that it had ever stopped her before.  She reached inside the bag, her eyes closed just in case she changed her mind halfway through. She didn’t.

Relief flooded over her as her hand closed around her hoodie the brunette had stolen earlier. She was only returning a sweatshirt. This was fine... until her fingers brushed the surface of a shoebox. Kirby’s spine stiffened. It couldn’t be  _ that _ box - Fallon wouldn’t do that. She said she’d gotten rid of the photos years ago. It wasn’t  _ that _ box.

Except it was. The shoebox that came with the first pair of Louboutins Fallon had bought with her own money sat in the redhead’s lap. It was heavier than Kirby remembered, but there were still old lipstick smears and stains from spilt perfume and the  _ F+K  _ encased in a heart carved in pencil on the bottom. The lid slipped off when she checked, dumping twenty-odd years worth of photos and ticket stubs onto the floor; their entire relationship splayed before her in a haphazard pile. It was jarring.

Kirby didn’t want to look at them. She didn’t want to see their first date or them at their senior prom or Fallon’s first day at Carrington Atlantic. She didn’t need to remember the time they saw  _ Wicked _ and Kirby pretended not to cry when Idina Menzel looked in her general direction or when she got into grad school or -

She didn’t want to remember anything. She’d spent the last three and a half years trying to forget, and she had been ambushed by this. This wasn’t fair. Not that anything Fallon ever did was fair. She knew what she was doing.

The brunette knelt next to her, collecting the contents of the box and shovelling them back inside. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was expecting this conversation to go a lot differently. I should have just stayed home.”

She stood up, holding the now-filled box against her hip, scanning the ground for anything she missed before moving toward the door and leaving.

Kirby stared through the wood of the door as though it would bring Fallon back. It didn’t. It never would. Not that Kirby wanted her to come back. She wanted Fallon to leave her alone, right? Right.

Kirby needed this. Her life had been nothing but misery since they bumped into one another that night in the bar. Now, she was able to breathe without worrying she’d run into Fallon, or that the brunette would heavily imply they should get back together. She was free, but why did she feel like she’d boxed herself in?

  
  
  



	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is the last chapter of Hangover Cure and I'm really super emo about it. Thank you to everyone for reading and being patient when it took me way too long to update!!  
> And an extra-special thank you to Sarah for beta reading the first two chapters of this and Amanda for betaing the rest!!  
> Thank you so much for reading!!

Fallon never believed things happened for a reason, but she believed it even less as she left Kirby’s apartment. If there was a reason for this, it had to be some sort of sick, twisted joke. All she wanted was to be happy with Kirby, and it had seemed the redhead wanted that, too, but now Fallon was homesick for arms that didn’t want to hold her anymore. Not that she blamed her ex-girlfriend. The brunette wouldn’t want anything to do with Kirby had the roles been reversed. But they weren’t, and she was sitting in her car with her battered heart in her lap.

She shouldn’t have come. Kirby had made it clear she needed space, but Fallon only ever listened to herself. She was an idiot. She should have told her about Liam sooner, she should have been nicer when Kirby first came home - she should have done a lot of things. But she didn’t, and now it was too late, and she was left with a hundred should’ves and what-ifs to dwell on while she pretended to get over her ex-girlfriend.

Fallon leant her head back against the headrest, defeat sinking in her chest. She’d blown it. She knew Kirby was still grieving, and still had to forgive herself for what happened when they broke up before she could forgive the brunette, yet Fallon had barged in anyway and ruined any chance she’d had of them getting back together.

Kirby appeared in her rearview mirror as she pulled away from the apartment complex, running down the stairs and into the building’s small car park. Fallon stalled, watching the other woman scan the lot for her car. She wanted to stop and let her talk. 

The brunette's brain stopped working for a second, going back and forth between what Fallon wanted and what she thought Kirby wanted. She  _ thought  _ the other woman didn’t want this. Kirby had made it very clear she didn’t want to be with Fallon. If that was true, why on earth was the redhead following her?

Fallon drove out of the car park, deciding it was unfair for both of them to allow herself to get her hopes up. She’d end up disappointed and Kirby would end up shutting herself away. She didn’t want that.

It took ten minutes for Kirby to call her. She didn’t answer the first time, still in her delusional, unrealistic moral high ground mindset. She gripped her steering wheel tighter as the notification came through on her phone, alerting her of the missed call. A lump formed in her throat as the redhead called again. And again. She didn't answer. It was a bad idea. Not that that had ever stopped her before when it came to Kirby, but she told herself this time was different. This time, it was going to last.

Then Kirby called again. Fallon stared at her ex-girlfriend’s name flashing across the screen in her dashboard for the third time as she came to a stop at a red light. She couldn’t answer. It was irresponsible and stupid and …

She pushed the button on her dashboard to answer the call. There was a crackled pause before she said anything. Her breath caught in her throat as she contemplated hanging up without talking.

“Hello, Fallon? Are you there?” Kirby said, her voice wobbling with something Fallon couldn’t quite decipher. 

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Is everything okay?”

“You missed some photos. They fell under the couch when I dropped them and we mustn’t have seen them. There’s only three, but I thought you’d like them back,” the redhead said, breath uneven and voice getting quieter. 

Oh.

Fallon’s heart gave a disappointed jerk at the words, the tiny glimmer of hope the phone calls had created collapsing into a heap of discontentment. She nodded as though the woman could see her, and tread on the silence before she realised she couldn’t.

“Oh. Okay.”

She wanted to continue; to alleviate the suffocating awkwardness they shared, but she didn’t want to allude to her going back to Kirby’s apartment, lest she offended her.

“I know you just left, but do you want to come back and get them? If you can’t now that’s alright but…” Kirby trailed off as the slam of the door echoed through the speakers in Fallon’s car.

The brunette hesitated. She had nothing else to do today. It was almost eight o’clock by now, and when she woke up this morning, her plans for that evening were to cuddle with Kirby and watch  _ Housewives _ . Going back was the closest thing to that. But she didn’t want to seem like she was desperate to get back to the other woman’s apartment when she was barely welcome.

“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll come back, okay?”

The redhead hummed an approval before they exchanged brief, uncomfortable goodbyes and hung up.

Fallon drove for another five minutes before turning and making her way back to the apartment. Her mind raced, thinking up a million and one excuses as to why she could bail and leave the photographs there with Kirby so they didn’t have to see one another again. The rational voice in the back of her mind screamed for her to turn around and go home. She didn’t need the photos. She should have gotten rid of them years ago, anyway. Going back for them was counterproductive - she’d never get over their relationship if she kept running back to Kirby, or kept rehashing old issues by reminiscing. This was a waste of time.

But Fallon wanted to see Kirby. It was  _ all _ she wanted. She ached to be close to her, to hold her, to have her be hers. But the feelings weren’t mutual and reciprocated, so she dreaded going anywhere near her.

She pulled back into the parking lot, every inch of her body buzzing with anxiety and apprehension. Fallon stayed in her car for a few minutes, trying both to plan what she would say and to calm herself down. It wasn’t working. Her head was a fog machine, and the only conceivable thought she could make out was that this was a worse idea than coming the first time. She wanted to go home; to save herself the embarrassment of saying something Kirby didn’t like that she couldn’t take back. But she wouldn’t go home. She told Kirby she’d come by and she was sick of lying to her.

The stairs seemed to get steeper as she walked up them, and they never seemed to end. The brunette’s head spun as she reached the top, breathless, and she only got dizzier as she knocked on the door. Muffled shuffles were heard before the door and Kirby stood before her in all her glory.

“Do you want to come in?” The redhead asked, scratching the back of her neck and taking a step back. Fallon paused before nodding and following the other woman back into the living area without a word. She didn’t know what to say.

“You didn’t have to leave, you know,” Kirby said after a few moments. Both of them sat on the couch, shoulder to shoulder. Fallon could feel the heat radiating from the redhead’s body and it took everything in her not to melt into her ex-girlfriend’s form.

“Yes, I did. I was making you uncomfortable and I was overstepping so many boundaries. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I had no right,” she replied, keeping her eyes fixed to the wall in front of her. Keeping her eyes off Kirby was her best bet.

Fallon crossed her legs, then uncrossed them again, her fingers drumming on the inside of her palm. Kirby’s eyes burned on her skin as they travelled along her face and down her body. The brunette’s breath stopped as she refused to look at the other woman.

“Why did you bring the box?” Kirby asked, her voice only above a whisper. This finally brought Fallon to look at her. The redhead’s gaze moved from the brunette’s face to her own hands, which were fiddling in her lap.

Fallon opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, her stomach twisting with something she didn’t recognise. She shrugged, struggling to articulate what she wanted to say in her head.

“There’s a reason you did, and I want you to tell me. I won’t get angry. Please, just tell me.”

The brunette shook her head, her eyes closed. 

Kirby pushed further, nudging her to tell her why she'd brought the box filled with memorabilia from their relationship. She deserved to know. She deserved to know why Fallon would ambush her like that. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell her.

“Please,” Kirby said, almost pleading at this point.

Fallon sighed, her eyes looking to the ceiling for a moment before she made agonising eye contact with the woman next to her.

“The photos make me forget you’re not allowed to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me anymore,” she said, finding difficulty in keeping herself from pulling away. “And I was hoping they’d do the same for you.”

At first, Kirby didn't say anything. She didn’t reply at all. She just sat there, staring at Fallon with an inexplicable expression on her face. The brunette began to panic. She shouldn’t have said anything. She shouldn’t have come back. She shouldn’t have come at all.

“They did,” the redhead said after a few long, painful moments. The unreadable expression morphed to the smallest of smiles, and her hand grazed Fallon’s, sending a shock of electricity.

Fallon shook her head, pulling her hand away and nursing it as though it had been burned with the other. This wasn’t happening. This didn’t make any sense. She understood Kirby was confused about her feelings, but there was no way she’d figured them out in the twenty minutes Fallon had been gone. There was no way. Just a half-hour ago, the redhead wanted nothing to do with her. How could she have changed her mind so quickly?

“What? You can’t be serious!”

Kirby answered the question by handing Fallon she photos she’d left behind. The one on top was them on their prom night. Fallon’s heart contracted painfully at the memory of her blatant refusal to go with Kirby out of fear of being judged. They’d been together for months by then, but Fallon was so afraid of coming out she refused to go to prom with her girlfriend, even if they pretended to go as friends.

“I was so awful to you about going. I wouldn't have forgiven you if you’d pulled something like that,” she said, cringing at their bad spray tans and clearly drunken states.

“You’re kind of really hard to stay mad at,” Kirby admitted, taking the photo to look at for herself. It was the same one that was sellotaped to the redhead’s vanity mirror in the bathroom.

“You’ve been mad at me for three and a half years.”

“I’ve been mad at  _ myself _ for three and a half years. I’ve been mad at  _ you _ for, like, twelve hours.”

Fallon looked down again, this time greeted with them in Savannah. She suppressed a frown, thinking of the arguments they'd had while on that vacation. She’d always told herself the Skype call before she went to Australia was the beginning of the end of their relationship, but it was really that trip. There was no saving it after that.

She folded the photo under the last one. They were fourteen and sandwiched between Kirby’s mother and stepfather, Thomas. It was the first time she’d ever visited Australia, and it was still her favourite holiday to date. She smiled sadly at the sight of Alicia, the ache in her chest intensifying.

Fallon continued to look at the photo, ignoring Kirby’s returned gaze on her face. She remembered her first trip to Perth like it happened a week ago. It was the summer after the redhead moved into the manor permanently. She didn’t want to remember it, though. Remembering it only reminded her of Kirby’s mother and that never got any less painful.

“Thomas is getting married,” Kirby said, startling Fallon. The brunette blinked hard, refusing to believe it. She didn’t understand how he could move on so quickly. “Apparently Darcy is throwing a hissy fit over it.”

“How do you feel about it?” Fallon asked, her body tensing as she awaited an answer.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know he was dating someone since Rorey’s living with our grandparents in Auckland and can’t be my spy. There was no one to tell me he was seeing someone.”

“What about Darcy? Are you still not speaking to her?”

“Not since the funeral.”   


“Kirby…”

Fallon’s face burned scarlet. She should have known Kirby and her sister still weren’t on speaking terms. Not after their argument after their mother passed away. Your sister calling you a slur isn’t exactly something you get over.

Fallon looked to Kirby, their eyes locking, the brunette’s stomach twisting again. She stared into the chocolate brown pools, coming undone with just a glance. She shifted her gaze and crossed her legs once more, hoping the redhead would change their topic of conversation. Talking about homophobic relatives made her skin itch.

Kirby maintained her silence, still trying desperately to make eye contact. She shifted an inch closer to the brunette, their legs now pressed firmly against each other. Fallon didn’t know how to feel. The redhead was sending her so many mixed signals, her brain was malfunctioning. Everything around her was simultaneously moving too quickly and too slowly, and her ears began to ring. She didn’t know what was happening, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Kirby handed her back the photo of them at prom, still observing her wordlessly. Their fingers brushed, and butterflies erupted in Fallon’s abdomen. She was in too deep now. She didn’t mind, though. She liked the familiarity. Her mind had changed quickly, and without her notice. It was startling, how Kirby had such an effect on her she didn’t even realise when she was getting sucked back in. Not that it would have taken much for Fallon to dive straight back in with the redhead. She was in love, after all.

“How long have you been back in Atlanta?” she asked, desperate to break the silence. A small weight lifted from her shoulders as the tension was cut, if only slightly.

“Since April,” Kirby replied, more focused on the hands of the clock hanging on the wall than the conversation she was having. Her hands traced patterns into the arm of the couch absentmindedly. An old habit Fallon sorely missed.

The brunette nodded and looked away again. “How come you didn’t come and visit until Christmas?”

She pulled her knee close to her chest and placed her chin upon it before eventually making eye contact again.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to handle seeing you,” the redhead said with a shrug. “You weren’t easy to get over, and I didn’t want to put all that work to waste.”

Kirby’s words hit Fallon like a bucket of icy water. She got over her. How the hell did she get over what they had?

“I don’t think I ever got over you,” Fallon admitted, her voice barely audible. She kept her eyes on Kirby, studying her reaction. She didn’t have much of one. It was like she expected the answer.

“I did. And then I didn’t. I was right. Seeing you only pulled me right back in. And, honestly? I’m not complaining anymore.”

Fallon was sure she stopped breathing. Kirby’s conflicting feelings made her head spin, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way. Just an hour ago, they were having a similar conversation, but opposite. The redhead wanted nothing to do with Fallon. And now, she wanted everything to do with Fallon.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a gargled squeak in the back of her throat came instead of words. She was still hungover, and the situation was escalating beyond anything she could comprehend in the muggy chaos of her brain. She nodded nonetheless as she waited for her mind to catch up.

“I don’t understand,” Fallon said - because she didn’t. Kirby had sent so many mixed messages today, and contradicted herself so many times that the brunette didn’t trust herself to come to a conclusion on her own.

“When I was staying in the manor, I used to stare at the photos of us taped to my mirror like it would bring me back to then. When I found these under the couch, that feeling became overwhelming. Mum always said holding grudges is a waste of life, and I’m starting to believe that. I don’t want to be mad at you anymore,” Kirby said, rambling and tripping over her words. She stared at Fallon, eyes full of remorse, and something the brunette hadn’t seen in years.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m willing to give us another chance. That’s what you want, right?”   


It was what Fallon wanted. It’s what Fallon had wanted since she was fourteen years old. Elation swelled in her chest at the confession, but uncertainty boiled in her stomach. How could she be sure Kirby would never leave her like that again?

Fallon nodded, her breath hitched as she moved her head. “It is. But only if it’s what you want, too. I don't want to force it. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it properly - like it was before Savannah. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

Kirby took a moment to digest the words. “I do. I will. I promise.”

A relieved smile broke across Fallon’s face, her whole body humming. This was finally happening. She was getting to be with her one again. 

“Can I kiss you?” The redhead asked.

“Always,” the brunette replied.

Kirby kissed Fallon like she kissed her when they were teenagers. It was sloppy and a little too wet, but the brunette couldn’t have asked for anything else. And, just like that, she didn’t feel hungover anymore.

Fallon wrapped her arms around Kirby, pulling her closer. Their bodies moulded together like they were made for one another, and the brunette finally felt like she was home again. It didn’t matter where she was, as long as she was with Kirby.

Fallon pulled away after a few moments, breathless and giddy. She smiled deliriously at the other woman before pecking her again on the lips.

“I hate to ruin the mood or whatever, but I think I’d like to take this slow. As you know, I’m not the greatest at this whole relationship thing,” she said, almost sheepishly. She knew they’d gone anything but slow in the past, and she felt foolish for suggesting it. Her face burned red, and her heart rate picked up when she hadn’t gotten a response after ten seconds. She looked up to see Kirby trying to internalise a laugh. She could have throttled her.

“Yeah, no kidding. We were broken up for less than four years and you still managed to get married like nine times,” the redhead snarked with a snicker. She scoffed at Fallon’s appalled expression. “When did you lose your sense of humour?”   


“I’ve only been married once, thank you very much - and it was for publicity. But, seriously, can we take it a little slower? You know, so we don’t rush into things fuck everything up again.”

“If that’s what you want, of course.”

 

* * *

  
  


Fallon woke up after Kirby. A look outside the parted curtains told her it was past eight. Kirby’s new bed in her new apartment was a lot more comfortable than the twin one pressed against the wall in the manor. But the new one didn’t smell like her, the perfume she wore in high school or her shampoo. Fallon liked lying there with the other woman, but her old bed was better.

The redhead had her face buried in the brunette’s shoulder, tracing the raised burn scars on her ribcage, exposed where her tank top had ridden up. The brunette gasped quietly, tiny prickles of pain shooting through her when Kirby touched a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Stop it, please,” she hissed, a lot less forceful than she had intended. She sounded as though she was in pain - which she was, but she didn’t need her girlfriend to know that. Fallon rolled away from Kirby, sitting up and examining her side. She let out another whine as her fingers grazed over the skin. It hadn’t hurt like this in months.

“Oh my god! I didn’t mean to hurt you! Are you okay?” The redhead asked, scrambling over to take a look, too. The scarring was pink and healing, as it had been for months. Nothing had changed. 

“No, no. You’re fine. It’s not your fault. It doesn’t usually hurt. Just keep away from it, okay?” Fallon said, turning to place her hand on the side of the other woman’s face, exploring it with her eyes, re-memorising each and every freckle and dimple.

“Okay,” Kirby said with a nod. She kissed the tip of Fallon’s nose, as she’d been doing for the last twenty-odd years, yet it never failed to take the brunette’s breath away. She’d never get used to the way Kirby made her feel. 

“I love you,” she said, taking both of the redhead’s hands in her own, kissing each knuckle.

A grin split Kirby’s face. “And I love you.”

She’d never get used to hearing that, either. She never wanted to get used to it. She hoped Kirby could make her feel dizzily giddy for the rest of their lives.


End file.
